


In arms that terrify and calm me

by Salambo06



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (no TFP), Anal Sex, Dancing, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Halloween, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post S4, Sherlock is engaged for a case, minor case, they finally talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-15 14:23:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12322743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: Halloween has never scared John, but this year, he can't help but fear his relationship with Sherlock is finally falling apart.___for a tumblr prompt: After S4 Sherlock and John don't live together. Basically John feels guilty for having hit Sherlock and is afraid to lose control again, so months passes. Around Halloween he goes to Baker Street and finds out that Sherlock is engaged with a beautiful man, gets jealous and followed them to a Halloween party, where he discovers that Sherlock's fiancee is a serial killer who recreates murders from horror movies and Sherlock is framing him.





	1. and you dance with him,

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hotaru_Tomoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotaru_Tomoe/gifts).



> Here I am with a new story, the first I write for Halloween!  
> Thank you so much to @johnlockismyreligion for the prompt, it is absolutely brilliant and I hope you'll like it :)
> 
> Another huge thank you to [Heather](http://snogbox1.tumblr.com/) for editing this story!
> 
> Enjoy,  
> Pauline.

 

> Without meaning to, 
> 
>     he disarmed me,
> 
>     with kisses that soothe
> 
>     and alarm me.
> 
>  
> 
> In arms that terrify
> 
>      and calm me.
> 
>            - _The fear of Losing you, Lang Leav._
> 
>  

* * *

 

 

"Rosie, stop moving," John sighs for the dozenth time, a bee costume in hand and a hairbrush in the other. "I need to get you dressed before we can go see Sherlock."

Rosie freezes at the words, looking at him intensely, "Lock?"

"Yes," John smiles, wondering just how often he must talk about Sherlock for her to already remember his name. "We haven't seen him in a long time, have we?" He continues, finally managing to slide her head into the dress. "He will be very happy to see your costume, you know.” He takes advantage of his daughter’s apparent fixation on his every word to brush her hair quickly. "He always said he hated halloween, but with a costume like yours, he won't be able to say no to trick or treat."

Rosie smashes one of her toys against the changing table in agreement, looking down to examine what she's wearing now and the yellow and black stripes seem to fascinate her instantly. John chuckles fondly, turning to get a scrunchie, tidying her hair into a ponytail and placing the final headband on her head. "There, a little bee."

"Bee," Rosie repeats, still examining her outwear with tentative fingers.  

John kisses her forehead softly, "Do you think I should call first?" he asks, not sure when exactly he had started talking to her as if she could actually give him a thoughtful reply. Taking her in his arms, he makes his way back to the living room, putting her down next to the sofa and going to get her coat. "He might be on a case after all," he continues. "Lestrade said they had been busy with some difficult ones lately."

Rosie fights him over the coat wearing, apparently not wanting to let a plain piece of clothing hide her still ever so fascinating dress. But John is already locked inside his own head, leaving her with just one sleeve on as he sits down on the sofa and lets out a loud sigh. "This is ridiculous," he whispers to the room, placing his head in his hands. How could he have thought this was a good plan. There was a high chance Sherlock wouldn't be home, and an even greater one he won't agree to even talk to him. No one simply knocks on the door for trick or treating after more than a month of complete silence and expects a positive response.

"I really never learn my lesson, do I?"

Rosie stares up at him, speaking nonsense while tugging at her costume, and John smiles tenderly at her. He could still remember perfectly the month he had spent away from Sherlock after his wedding, how reckless he had become, how many times he had opened the door wishing to find Sherlock standing there with a case and dragging him out of his already too suffocating flat. But here he is again, in a flat that hasn't changed much despite the baby's furniture and the ghost of his dead wife threatening to appear at every corner. Sometimes he can't actually believe he hasn’t moved out yet, still hasn't found the guts to ask Sherlock if there is any chance he would agree to let them move in, even just for a little while. Christ, for that, he first needs to find the courage to send a bloody text.

"Da," Rosie calls, bringing him back to reality and he reaches for the toy next to him, placing it on the floor with another smile.

"You don't know him, do you?" He asks in a murmur. "You've barely seen him, barely been around him at all."

Rosie is already playing with the toy, ignoring him entirely, and John fights the urge to check if there isn't a bottle of scotch left in the kitchen. He closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing and trying to loosen the knot slowly forming in his chest. He can control himself, has been learning to do so for the past few weeks, back with Ella. In the end, she had been the only one he had been able to talk to, really talk to. In some way, she had always known, had always been the only one who could understand what was really happening inside his head. It doesn't mean it had been easy to sit back on that chair and face what she had to say without denying all of it. Old habits die hard, they say.

"I'm sure you'll adore him," he finally breathes out, looking back at Rosie still playing and finding it quite easy to picture this exact same scene in the warm, comfortable living room of 221B. Rosie makes a small sound of agreement, now staring back at him, and John forces himself to get up. "Come on, let's finish dressing up before it gets dark."

Rosie lets him do as he pleases, holding on tightly to the headband she has now removed. Deciding not to fight over it yet, John lets her keep it all the way out of the flat and into the cab, keeping her secure on his lap. She doesn't say much for the entire ride, looking outside the window and for a moment, John fears she might actually fall asleep. Still, he rubs her back slowly, letting himself drift back to his own thoughts. Lestrade hadn't been willing to share the details of the few cases he worked with Sherlock lately, but had assured him he was keeping a careful eye on him. It doesn’t change the fact that John had been dying to ask if he could call him for the next one, maybe allowing him to come by and finally have no choice but talk to Sherlock.

_You can't continue to hide this way, John. If you want to get better, you need to let Sherlock see, need to let him understand exactly what is happening inside your head. Neither of you can move forward if you don't trust the other with what you have to say._

"Easy for you to say," John exhales loudly.

"What?" The driver calls, looking at him in the mirror.

"No, nothing, sorry," John apologizes quickly, cursing himself silently as he closes his eyes for the rest of the ride.

They arrive at Baker Street sooner than he had expected, and an ache is spreading through John's entire chest when he pays the driver. Rosie is hanging onto him tightly, looking all around with wide eyes. He barely has the time to take out his keys when the door swings open, Mrs Hudson greeting them both with a warm smile, "John, how nice to see you."

"Hello Mrs H," John replies, her presence somehow making it easier already.

"And hello Miss Rosie," Mrs Hudson continues, opening her arms and John slowly gives her away. "Oh, is that a bee costume I guess under that coat?"

Rosie looks down at herself, "Bee."

Mrs Hudson laughs, kissing her a few times before looking back at him, "You've come to see Sherlock, I suppose?"

"Yes," John says, breathing in slowly. "Is he here?"

"He is," Mrs Hudson replies, now looking anxious.

John frowns, "What is it?"

"He's alright, don't worry," she says quickly, but still showing no signs of letting him inside. "But maybe tonight isn't a good time."

"I wanted to ask him to come trick or treat with us," John explains, now wanting more than ever to climb the stairs and find out what Mrs Hudson is poorly trying to hide.

Mrs Hudson glances at the stairs behind her, sighing, "He's been really busy lately, dear. Working case after case, I've barely seen him myself you know."

"Then how can you be sure he's alright?" John can't help but ask, the worry slowly growing inside his mind making it hard to focus on anything else.

"I promise he is, dear," Mrs Hudson assures him once again. "It's just that he asked not to be disturbed and I'm not sure he'll be pleased to-"

"See me?" John asks, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"Don't be an idiot, John," Mrs Hudson replies, shaking her head. "He's always pleased to see you."

"Then he can say no himself if he doesn't want to go with us tonight," John snaps. "Sorry, I didn't mean-" He rubs a hand over his eyes. "Can I go ask for myself? You can't tell me to leave now."

Mrs Hudson stares at him for a long moment before giving in and letting him pass, "I'll keep Rosie with me downstairs," she declares, already walking towards 221A. "It'll be easier for all of us."

"Sure," John replies, already too focused on whatever he's going to find once he's upstairs. With one foot already on the first step, he allows himself to take a deep breath. No matter the experiment Sherlock might be conducting, or the state he might find him in, he can't mess this up. Not again. He climbs the stairs slowly, making sure that Sherlock will be able to hear him coming, and when he knocks at the kitchen door, he finds it already open. "Sherlock?"

No one replies, and John begins to fear the worst when he catches sight of Sherlock sitting in his chair, eyes closed. "Sherlock?" He calls again, and this time Sherlock's eyes fly open.

"John?" He frowns, practically jumping to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." John begins before clearing his throat, already at a loss for words.

"You can't stay," Sherlock exclaims, not giving him the chance to find an end to his sentence anyway.

"I can't?" John replies, the ache expanding to his entire body. "Is there a problem?"

"Everything's fine," Sherlock asserts, walking past him to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water. He keeps his back turned to him, and John clenches his jaw, trying to shake the surprise off. "But you can't stay. Go home."

"Sherlock, if this is about-"

"I don't have time for this, John," Sherlock cuts him off, still not looking back at him.

Hands tightening into fists, John exhales slowly, the worry giving place to confusion. Sherlock seems perfectly fine, no scratches, no limp, no bruise. None that he can see. Resisting the urge to demand a full check up, he asks, "Time for what?"

Sherlock remains silence for a second, maybe two. "Whatever you came here for, obviously."

John stretches back his fingers, holding to one of the chair instead, "Could you look at me?" Sherlock turns around with a sigh. Neither of them saying a word, John tries to read on his face what he's hiding, what might be wrong, but he's faced with a closed Sherlock. In every sense of the term apparently. "I know it's been a while, but I thought we could-"

"I told you, I don't have time for this," Sherlock says, now walking back to the living room in a hurry.

 _He's trying to flee_ , John realises, not sure to understand why yet.

"Sherlock," he tries again, glad to see Sherlock isn't stopping him mid-speech again. "Mrs Hudson said you've been busy but I just wanted to see if you were free tonight."

"I told her I didn't want to see anyone."

John wonders if he realises what he's saying, if this is someone a way to get back at him, but Sherlock shows no signs of continuing so John takes a careful step toward him. "I've brought Rosie with me," he says.

"I trust she's well," Sherlock breathes after another beat of silence.

"She is," John smiles, wishing he could make Sherlock look at him again. "She's downstairs with Mrs Hudson." Another silence. John breathes in deeply. "Actually, I had come to see if you wanted to come trick or treating with us. For halloween, I mean. Tonight."

Sherlock turns towards him, face just as closed but something passing in his eyes, "I told you, I don't have time."

"We can wai-"

"I can't," Sherlock asserts, walking to the door and opening it. "Goodbye John."

John remains standing where he is, letting out a nervous laugh, "You're not even gonna go see her?" Sherlock doesn't reply, hand on the doorknob and eyes fixed on something above John's right shoulder. "Sherlock, I'm talking to y-"

The door downstairs slamming shut makes them both jump, and John only has the time to watch Sherlock's entire body tense before he hears it.

"Sherlock, I've got your costume, you're gonna be gorgeous in this!"

John watches, having stopped breathing entirely, as a man storms inside the flat, not having noticed him apparently as he stops in front of Sherlock and leans in to kiss him quickly. "I knew the pirate was a good idea." Unable to see Sherlock's face anymore, John can only hear the wet sound of another kiss, two, three. "You should try it on before we go."

"Matt," Sherlock finally says, "this is John."

The man turns around, eyes widening as he realises they're not alone, "God, sorry. I didn't see you."

John opens his mouth but not a word comes out.

"I'm Matthew," the man continues, walking toward him and extending a hand. "Sherlock told me a lot about you."

Unable to move, John looks from Sherlock to this Matthew, somehow trying to make sense of the situation. Matthew slowly lowers his hand, turning to look back at Sherlock, and the small shrug Sherlock gives him makes all of John's body shudder. No. This can't be.

"John was just leaving," Sherlock says, giving him a pointed look.

"Oh why?" Matthew asks, looking back at him. "Sherlock keeps mentioning you whenever he talks about all the cases he solved, and I've always wanted to meet the famous John Watson."

Finally getting his thoughts back in order, John manages to reply with a hoarse voice, "I'm sorry, but you are?"

He sees from the corner of his eyes Sherlock looking down at the floor as he closes the door.

"Matthew, Sherlock's fiancé," Matthew replies, turning to walk back to Sherlock. "You didn't tell him?"

Sherlock shakes his head, accepting the arm around his waist and it seems John can't look away, "Fiancé?" he asks, the word making something heavy sink inside his chest.

"It's brand new, really," Matthew replies, "Just four days ago."

John stares, and stares some more, another laugh escaping him but the sound dies in his throat quickly when he notices Sherlock's thumb stroking Matthew's arm slowly. Not sure how much longer his legs will hold him, he instinctively sits on his chair, trying hard to remember how to breathe properly. "You're engaged?" he asks, eyes fixed on Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock breathes, almost too quietly.

Matthew is looking at the two of them back and forth, a frown forming between his eyes, "Wasn't I supposed to tell?" He asks in a whisper, most likely directed to Sherlock only, and John closes his eyes, wondering what the hell is happening exactly.

"It's alright," Sherlock replies softly, leaning into Matthew's embrace.

John looks away, a strong impression of déjà-vu making it hard to stay in place. Of course he hasn't forget about bloody Janine, about kissing and diner invitation, but that had been a ruse, a comedy ... a woman.

"Can I get you anything to drink, John?" Matthew asks, but getting no answer. "Sherlock?"

"I'm fine."

John is still trying to process all of it when Matthew drags Sherlock to his chair, sitting down and letting Sherlock settle on his lap. Now being the one who desperately wants to flee, John's hands tightens around the armchair.

"I can't believe Sherlock hasn't told you," Matthew sighs. "He's always so busy, always locked in there," he smile, brushing Sherlock's temple with two fingers, and god, was that a shiver? "But you two shared a lot. I thought he'd ask you to be his best man in complete honesty."

"I haven't had the time," Sherlock says, eyes fixed on Matthew's tie.

"When?" John finds himself asking.

"Two weeks," Matthew replies with a smile.

"No," John says, clearing his throat. "When?"

Sherlock's eyes find his, "Seven months ago."

Seven months. All the way back when John had been trying to balance living with an assassin wife and the announcement of an unexpected child. All the way back when his life had been slowly falling apart without having a single idea on how to fix everything. All the way back when he had thought he could maybe do one last irrational thing that could change it all.

"How?" He asks, not yet ready to take what he's witnessing at face value. Sherlock had to be faking again, this is all for a case. It can't be serious. It can't.

"Internet," Matthew replies, smiling fondly, probably at the memories and John watches in defeat as Sherlock’s own lips curl into a similar smile. "I couldn't believe the great Sherlock Holmes was looking for love, and so we chatted for several months before finally agreeing to meet."

"Five months, twenty days," Sherlock corrects, leaning a bit more against him.

John swallows with difficulty, throat dry, "And you're already engaged."

"I know," Matthew smiles, bowing his head. "It's fast, but it really doesn't feel like it, and when Sherlock said yes, I realised I wasn't the only one feeling this way."

They fall silent, John still on the lookout for any signs that this is just one big joke or that he's going to wake up soon and forget about all this entirely. "Wait," he says with a sharp shake of his head. "Two months ago, Culverton, you two were already dating?"

Matthew sighs, the arm still around Sherlock's waist bringing him closer if possible, "Yes. I was worried sick. He didn't reply to any of my messages and when he finally did, that's when we agreed to meet. I needed to make sure, in person I mean, that he was all right."

Starting to realise there wasn't much he could still listen to without letting the growing jealousy inside him explode, John gets to his feet and walks to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water, drinking quickly while trying to calm himself. He can hear the two of them whispering from here, the words too quiet and the intimacy too natural. He glances over to the chairs, witnessing another kiss that make his stomach turn. "Fuck," he curses silently, considering leaving now and finding something to punch.

"I'm off to take a shower," Matthew announces with a sigh, getting up. "It was nice to meet you, John."

John nods, leaning against the counter. He waits until Matthew disappears in the bathroom before dragging his eyes back to Sherlock. They stare at each other for a long moment, the distance between them having never felt so important, so impossible to cross before.

"What the hell is going on?" John finally asks, hands beginning to shake when Sherlock shows no signs of replying. "Sherlock," he says, just a little louder. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Careful," Sherlock hisses, glancing at the bathroom door. "Matt is going to hear you."

John lets out a small laugh, "I don't give a fuck if _Matt_ hears me," he exclaims, one fist hitting the counter. He runs a hand through his hair, focusing on his breathing and trying to regulate his pounding heart. "Is this for a case?"

Sherlock remains silent, eyes still fixed on the door. Starting to seriously lose patience, John storms towards him, "Sherlock, is this for a case?!"

Their eyes meet. "No."

"Stop lying," John breathes, voice trembling.

"It's not for a case, John," Sherlock says, his tone neutral and so very calm that it makes anger boil in John's vein. "Weren't you the one who told me romantic attachment was all I was missing? That it would complete me as a human being?"

John laughs again, "You have to be shitting me."

Sherlock smirks, "Weren't you?"

"That's not what I was tal-" he begins before stopping himself. _Fuck_.

Sherlock walks past him to get the costume Matt had placed on the sofa, "You were right. You should be pleased. Matt is attentive and understands me in many different ways. I'm happy with him."

"You can't be serious," John mutters, head spinning.

"Well I am," Sherlock asserts, staring back at him.

John swallows around the lump in his throat. Eyes fluttering closed, he finally lets himself see the situation as it is, with a man currently showering in the bathroom, a man Sherlock apparently lives with, a man that makes him _happy_.

"You can leave now," Sherlock breathes. "Matt and I are going out tonight, I can't come with you and Rosie."

John finds the courage to meet his eyes again, reading there nothing but pure indifference. _I did this_ , he thinks. _I pushed him away, made him think I didn't care, didn't want to be part of his life anymore_. He doesn't say a word, walking to the doors with the strange sensation that the remains of the life he built within these walls are slowly crumbling down. "I..." he whispers but decides against it. "Goodbye."

Sherlock nods lightly, pushing the door closed as soon as he outside, and John resists the urge to storm back in and demand a real explanation. He listens as footsteps echo inside the flat, from the door to Sherlock's roo- no, the bathroom. Another pang of jealousy makes him shake from head to toe, and without thinking twice about it, John is taking out his phone and climbing down the stairs hastily. He ignores Mrs Hudson calling his name on the way out, and only stops once he's on the pavement, inhaling deeply.

"John," comes Mycroft's voice on the phone.

"Did you know?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you-"

"Stop," John interrupts him. "Of course you know, you always know everything, don't you?"

"Is there a purpose to this phone call, doctor Watson?"

John's hand tightens around the phone, "Did you do a background check?"

"About whom?"

"Mycroft, did you do a fucking background check or not?!"

Mycroft remains silent for a long moment, and John considers going directly to his office and demanding to see the files Mycroft most likely has on this Matthew.

"Yes," he replies finally. "Mr Fines is a very ordinary man, with no apparent intention of hurting Sherlock."

"Are you certain?" John asks, every breath aching.

"Do you really think I would let Sherlock live with him if I wasn't?" Mycroft asks, not giving him the time to say anything else before hanging up and John lets his head fall backward, tears of frustration pearling at his eyes.

"Fuck," he finds himself cursing once more. "Fuck."

A careful hand sliding down his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks down to find Mrs Hudson with Rosie in her arms smiling sadly at him, "Are you alright, dear?"

John shakes his head, voice trembling, "How long has he been living here?"

"For about a month," Mrs Hudson replies, sighing. "I was very surprised when Sherlock introduced him to me, and at first I thought he was working one of his cases again, but Matthew continues to come home every day."

John glances up, almost wishing to catch Sherlock staring at them from the window but finding the curtain closed.

"I'm so sorry," Mrs Hudson continues. "I thought about calling to tell you."

"It's not your fault," John replies, offering her his best smile.

She pats his shoulder, "Just like it's not yours, dear."

"Isn't it?" John can't help but ask, another nervous laugh escaping him. They remain silent for a long moment, Rosie dozing off on Mrs Hudson's shoulder and John tries his best to regain some composure  by watching her. "Do you mind taking care of her tonight?"

"I thought the two of you were going to trick or treat?"

John glances back at Mrs Hudson, reading in her eyes just how desperate he must sound like, "I can't just do nothing. I need be certain, need to make sure he's..."

"I understand dear," Mrs Hudson smiles. "I can take care of her tonight, for the whole night too if you need. I still have some nappies around."

"Thank you," John breathes out, raising one hand to stroke Rosie's hair slowly. "You're staying with Mrs H, sweetheart."

Mrs Hudson nods at him one last time before walking back towards the door, "John, don't give up too quickly, will you?" she calls softly. "You've always been special, you know that."

John doesn't quite meet her eyes as he says, "Thank you again, Mrs H." He waits until he hears the door closing to walk down the street, refusing to let himself think about whether Sherlock is or isn't currently showering with his fiancé. He needs to focus, need to master his plan. But first of all, he needs to find a costume.

His eyes find his watch a dozen times on the way to the nearest costume shop. He can't miss his chance and let Sherlock and Matthew leave without being able to follow. Just for tonight, just this once he's going to cross the line, one last time. It doesn't matter that Sherlock told him to go, doesn't matter he chose someone else to fill the empty space in John's chair. He can't let it go so easily, can't let Sherlock go without being absolutely certain he's not making the worst mistake of his life. One he should have fixed months, no, years ago already.

The owner of the first shop he sees almost sound sorry when he sees him come in, "I only have a Batman costume left in your size, or a pumpkin but you don't look the type to wear one of those.”

"I'll take Batman," John replies, taking out his debit card and paying quickly. "Can I change here?"

"Sure, it's over there."

John puts the costume on top of his clothes quickly, putting his coat back on and placing the mask in his pocket. It’s not as if he was going draw any attention, especially tonight, but still.

"Don't play stupid with this," the man calls as John leaves but he ignores him, already increasing his pace on the way back to Baker Street.

He stops twice to catch his breath, considering both times to go home instead and let this go. If Sherlock realises he's following him, and he will being Sherlock bloody Holmes, he's going to get mad and for all the right reasons. John already doubts his jealousy wasn't obvious earlier, and Sherlock and him go without mentioning it. He won't do the same twice, and then John won't have any other choice than to justify his behavior.

He returns to Baker Street barely thirty minutes after having left Sherlock upstairs and Rosie with Mrs Hudson. He choses a bench, sitting down and forcing himself to calm down while keeping a careful eye on the front door. Surely Matthew didn't manage to both shower and get ready in the meantime, and there is a good chance they won't come out for several more minutes. Just the time John needs to reconsider his plan once more, just the time for him to go get his daughter and spend a quiet, nice evening with her instead of watching any more kissing and touching between the man he's desperately in love with and his bloody fiancé.

"Fuck," he curses, one hand already tightened into a fist. He can't go. Of course he can't go. There is no chance he's going to let Sherlock get married without telling him first what he feels, what he has been feeling for too long without ever daring to do something about it. So either tonight proves that this is actually just a comedy, an act Sherlock is putting on to solve a case, or John will have to find the proper timing to do something.

He's not sure how long he sits there, staring at a door which won't open while trying to ignore the voice in his head supplying him with all the things that could be happening inside 221B as he waits here. The moment Matthew walks out, dressed as a cowboy with the most ridiculous hat he has ever seen, John is up on his feet and hiding behind a tree. He watches as Sherlock follows close behind, wearing a pirate costume that makes John want to both laugh and scream at the same time. Christ, he should have been the one to suggest a pirate costume back when Lestrade had been begging him to find a way to drag Sherlock to one of his halloween parties.

He can't help but smile when he notices Sherlock glaring at Matthew, saying something that makes the other man laugh and pull him closer for a kiss. Looking away quickly, John walks to the nearest waiting cab, slamming the door once he's in, "See the couple there," he says to the driver, pointing to where Sherlock is still being kissed on the pavement. "I'm going where they're going."

The cabbie gives him an amused look, "Sure mate."

They only have to wait a few minutes before Sherlock waves for a cab, and the driver follows as soon as they're inside. They don't drive very far, stopping in front of a club and John waits until he's certain Sherlock and Matthew are heading inside before paying the cabbie and getting out. He takes off his coat and puts the mask on, and with a deep breath, he heads in too. The music is loud, very loud, and there are way too many people. He wonders what the hell Sherlock is doing by coming here, the place being the perfect example of what he despises, and he lets the small hope of all this being part of a case grow inside him. Making his way to the bar, John sits on one of the stools and begins to search the crowd.

He catches sight of a pirate and a cowboy exchanging whispers in each other’s ears quickly, and he orders a glass of water without looking away. He needs to remain focused, and alcohol isn't an option, no matter how tempting. He tries to guess what Sherlock might be saying now that they aren't glued together anymore, and it doesn't take a genius to guess he's deducing the three men sitting not far away. He watches as Matthew laughs, and laughs some more while Sherlock smiles at him, and John freezes. He knows that smile, has seen that smile before, has once said that he could tell Sherlock wasn't a machine just because of _that_ smile.

"No," he breathes, head spinning with the realisation of what he's doing. What the hell is he playing at? What is he even doing here? He has no right, absolutely no right to compromise Sherlock's relationship. Sherlock is allowed to feel this way, to smile like that and it's only John's fault if the smile in question is not directed at some other man than him.

John closes his eyes, breathing in and out deeply and letting the music fade away. Making up his mind quickly, he puts down his glass of water and orders something stronger instead. Just one drink and he's gone. Rosie can stay at Baker Street, he's going to need the time alone tonight anyway. And tomorrow he'll go back and apologize, tell Sherlock he's happy for him and that he hopes they can remain friends, that it doesn't have to change anything. Does it?

"Hi there." John's eyes snap back open, taking in the Zorro mask and blue eyes behind it. "Here alone?"

"Not here to stay, sorry," John replies, finishing his drink quickly.

"Too bad," the man sighs, not moving. "I don't know why I thought a halloween party in a club would be a good idea anyway."

John smiles, taking off his mask, "I understand that."

"I'm Arnold," the man says, leaning against the counter and removing his mask too.

"John."

"Nice to meet you, John," Arnold smiles, looking away to stare at the people dancing. "Why are you leaving then?"

"I..." John begins before shaking his head. "I thought I had something to do here, but turned out I don't."

Arnold glances back at him, "Maybe you'll stay for some dancing?"

"Why would I?" John asks, repressing an amused laugh.

"Because it would be with me," Arnold replies, winking at him.

John stares at him, unable to hold back his laughter this time and Arnold joins him after a second. "Sorry," he says. "I'm terrible at this, always have been."

"You’re not so bad."

They fall silent, John finding he doesn't actually mind Arnold's presence, making it somehow easier to forget why he's here in the first place, but also hoping the man will understand his complete disinterest in more. Unable to stop himself, he glances back to where Sherlock and Matthew stood a minute ago only to find their seats empty. An instant panic fills him but he spots the cowboy hat in the middle of the dance floor, Sherlock wrapped around Matthew's body as they dance.

"Oh, I see," comes Arnold's voice again.

"What?" John asks, unable to look away from them dancing.

"That's the thing you had to do," Arnold says, and John catches him nodding toward Sherlock. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"No," John replies quickly. "Just a friend I'm worried about."

Arnold stares at him, amused, "Well, it seems that your friend is just as worried about you then."

John's eyes find Sherlock again immediately, "What?"

"He's been looking over here the whole time we’ve been talking," Arnold says. "Hence the ex-boyfriend question, considering he's dancing with that cowboy."

John licks his lips, fighting the urge to look toward Sherlock again. "He's watching?"

"And he's not being discreet about it, yeah," Arnold smiles, leaning closer. "Is this a _I want to make him jealous_ kind of thing?"

"What is even that?" John asks, laughing.

Arnold looks at him for a long moment before extending a hand, "Come on," he says, nodding toward the dance floor. "I'll show you."

John glances at the offered hand, considering his option.

"I don't care if he's your ex-boyfriend, a friend or a stranger," Arnold says with a pointed look. "But if you want to make him react, show him you can have fun too, then it's your chance."

"I don't know," John replies, not believing he's actually thinking about doing as Arnold says. "It feels a bit... manipulative, you know."

Arnold turns to look where Sherlock and Matthew are still dancing, "What about what he's doing then?"

John turns back to Sherlock just in time to see Matthew's hand slide dangerously down his back. "Alright," he declares, another pang of jealousy taking over him, and he gets to his feet, taking Arnold's hand.

Arnold gives him a bright smile, leading him out in the middle of the crowd and pulling him closer. "Let's dance then." John breathes out deeply when he feels one of Arnold's hands settle on his waist, the other high on his back, fingers brushing his nape. "You tell me if I go too far."

John nods, letting his eyes fall shut as they begin to sway with the music, bodies close and Arnold's breath warm against his neck. He focuses on that, on the music and how his every muscle seems to relax with each beat. He places one hand on Arnold's shoulder, holding on, while the other ventures down his back. He looks back at him, but Arnold is already lost to the dance, a small smile on his lips. John's eyes scan the crowd quickly, searching until he meets Sherlock's eyes, fierce and fixed on him. He's still in Matthew's arms, still dancing but it seems as if his entire focus is on John and John only.

"Is he watching?" Arnold asks, the words breathed against his neck.

John nods, pressing them closer on intuition and he's rewarded with a frown from Sherlock. He forces himself to look away, starting to realise exactly what Arnold had in mind with this dance, and can't help but smile, feeling something close to excitement. Arnold swirls them around, making it impossible for John to see Sherlock anymore, and he feels lips brushing his ear and neck slowly. He can almost feel the strength of Sherlock's stare on them this way, and Arnold smiles against his skin. "Still all right?" he breathes into his ear and John nods again, picturing exactly what Sherlock must be seeing now.

Daring to let one hand slide lower, John stops on Arnold's lower back and holds him closer. He's still not sure what he's trying to prove here, especially after having just accepted that Sherlock deserves to have a chance at love, but meeting his eyes once more in the middle of all those people feels absolutely glorious. He's not sure how long they stare at each other, Matthew kissing Sherlock's neck reverently but Sherlock showing no sign of caring, even just a bit. Another swirl and Sherlock disappears again, "He's leaving," Arnold breathes. "Bathroom."

John turns to see Matthew walking towards the bar and Sherlock nowhere to be seen.

"It's your chance," Arnold says, taking a step back. "I'm sure that friend won't remain so for too long now." John opens his mouth a few times, not sure what to say exactly, and Arnold laughs softly, "What are you waiting for? Go."

"Thank you," John manages to get out before turning around and practically running towards the club's bathroom. He almost runs into three different people, and once he finally reaches the door, Sherlock has disappeared again. He checks the men's toilets, not daring to call out Sherlock's name, and then the hallway again before sighing loudly. The music is lower here, but his ears are still buzzing. He leans against the nearest wall, remaining close to the men's toilet just in case Sherlock gets out, and he jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand close around his arm.

"Over here," comes an all too-familiar voice.

In less than a second, John is being dragged behind a staff door. The music fades away once the door is closed, and for a long moment, only the sound of breathing echoes in the small room. John doesn't dare to look up at Sherlock's face, focusing on getting his breath back under control instead and his entire body shivers when the hand still around his arm squeezes.

"What are you doing here, John?"

Sherlock's voice is low, so very low, and John slowly looks up at him.

"I told you to go," Sherlock continues, his face flushed and his eyes roaming all over John's face. "Did you follow me?"

"I..." John begins before giving up on finding an excuse. There's no time for those anymore. "Yes."

"Why?" Sherlock asks, his presence taking all the space in the room and John's head.

"I needed to be sure," John says, fingers tightening into fist. "I had to see for myself."

Sherlock takes a step closer, "See what, John?"

"You," John breathes, now backed against the door. "With him." Sherlock arches an eyebrow, not saying a word, and John swallows with difficulty. "I couldn't believe you’re engaged," he continues. "I was convinced it was for a case, that you could be in danger."

"Was?" Sherlock asks, his voice now a whisper.

"I wasn't thinking straight. I'm sorry," John murmurs, matching his tone. "You clearly seem to be hap-"

"What were you doing with that man?" Sherlock interrupts him, his voice dangerously lower.

John frowns, "Arnold?" Sherlock nods slowly, the name making his entire body tense. "I was dancing," John says, almost daring Sherlock to say anything about it. "Just like you were."

Sherlock shakes his head, taking the final step that still separates them and whispering almost directly against John's lips, "I wasn't dancing, John, I was working a case."

John's breath catches, the knot in his chest loosening and his entire body shuddering, "A case?" he asks, relief flooding through his veins with each second that ticks by.

"Yes," Sherlock replies, still dangerously close. "And you are distracting me."

"Sorry," John finds himself saying, wishing he could slap himself for being such an idiot. "I mean, I didn't mean to-"

"What did you mean to do, then?" Sherlock asks.

It doesn't take more for John to figure out what he's been reading in Sherlock's eyes since they locked themselves in there. He smiles, catching Sherlock's eyes dropping to his lips. "Passing the time," he breathes, one hand sliding down Sherlock's arm, "and proving a point."

Sherlock's eyes light up with something bright, "What point?"

John takes a instant to breathe the moment in, all the promise this second holds and everything that could happen with the word he whispers next, "You."

Everything stops the moment Sherlock's lips crash against his, and John loses the ability to think properly all together. He laces their fingers together tightly, holding on with all he's got as Sherlock is already pulling away, looking all too panicked. Using his free hand to bring their mouths closer again, John makes it his mission to make this man understand this is all right, much more than all right. He feels Sherlock shiver against him, the mere sensation making John's body catch fire. He parts his lips, giving Sherlock the chance to keep the kiss as it is or ask for more, but their tongues meet in the middle immediately. A loud groan echoes in the room, John finding that he couldn’t care less if he's the one making it.

"John," Sherlock pants when they part for air, remaining so very close. John kisses his way from his jaw to his ear, daring to lick the skin there. "John," Sherlock moans again, seeking his lips again for another burning kiss.

John isn't in control anymore, his every sense on fire, and he pushes into Sherlock's body, already desperate for more. Letting go of his hand, Sherlock slides both of his down John's back and onto his arse, applying more pressure to their already glued bodies. Moaning at the clear evidence of Sherlock's arousal against his own, John raises both hands to his head, pushing away the ridiculous pirate hat and threading his fingers through Sherlock's curls, deepening the kiss even more. He holds back a cry of surprise when Sherlock pulls him off the door only to take his place there, keeping them close, and this new position makes John's blood boil with desire.

"Fuck, Sherlock," he moans, one hand coming to raise one of Sherlock's leg, encouraging him to lock it around his hip.

Sherlock seems to be only able to moan his name, demanding another kiss with hungry lips devouring his, and John can only gives in to more, more, more. With his head spinning and heart racing, he licks into Sherlock's mouth, learning his taste, make it his only. It takes a sharp thrust of Sherlock hips and their erections brushing more firmly for John's mind to come back online, and with a reluctant sigh, he slows down the pace of their kiss until he can pull away softly.

Panting against each other’s mouths, John slowly comes to realise what just happened exactly. He smiles, giving in into a small, bright laughter filling the room. Sherlock's eyes are still closed, his chest rising heavily against his, and John resists the urge to kiss him again. "You're a pirate," he whispers.

Opening his eyes, Sherlock locks them together, "Brilliant deduction," he breathes, getting another laugh out of John. "And you are..."

"Batman," John says, knowing perfectly Sherlock has no idea who that is.

They fall silent, the previous urgency in their movements fading away, and John breathes it all in. He brushes Sherlock's flushed cheeks slowly, his thumb tracing his lower lips with attention. Sherlock's leg falls back to the floor, his hands settling on John's waist without pushing him away, nor pulling him closer. John sees on his face the inevitable, and he lets out a quiet sigh, "You have to go."

"Yes," Sherlock breathes.

John's eyes flutter close briefly, "Are you in danger?"

Sherlock smiles at him, "Not anymore now that you're here."

John shakes his head fondly, finding it hard to keep their mouths apart. "A killer?" Sherlock nods slowly, hands tightening around John's costume. "Are you being careful?"

"I am," Sherlock replies, their eyes locked. "It ends tonight." John doesn't try to hide his relief, and Sherlock exhales loudly. "I can't let him alone too long or he'll come look for me." John nods, not yet ready to let go. Sherlock's hands fall back to his side, "Don't go too far, and wait for my signal," he whispers before pushing himself off the door, reaching for his hat still on the floor and leaves the room.

John lets him close it back silently, unable to move for a long moment. A thousand new pieces of information race through his head, a delirious mix of ‘Sherlock isn't engaged’ and ‘Sherlock is in danger’ that makes it hard to focus on anything else. With one finger lingering against his lips, he takes a deep breath and looks up sharply at the door. Danger. He needs to focus on that only now. Sherlock needs him to be prepared, needs him to remain close, needs him.

Walking back to the bar, John spots Sherlock and Matthew in the far end of the club, attached to each other again. If his jealousy had been hard to contain before, it is now impossible to control with the taste of Sherlock's lips still so vivid. He sits down, remembering not to make himself noticed, and orders some water without looking away from where Sherlock is.

Arnold finds him ten minutes later. "Didn't work?"

"It did," John replies. "It's bit complicated."

"I can see that," Arnold says with a smile.

His phone buzzing startles him, and John takes it out quickly, unable to repress a laugh when he reads the text.

**received / 21:34**

Why are you still talking to that man? SH

 

**sent / 21:34**

Watching me?

 

"Is that him?" Arnold asks, the deduction easy considering Sherlock is focused on his own phone. John nods, having lost interest on the conversation already.

**received / 21:35**

You kissed me. SH

**received / 21:35**

Not him. Me. SH

 

Arnold pats his shoulder, "Well, I'm glad if I was any help. Happy halloween!"

"Thank you," John replies, forcing himself to look up from his phone but Arnold is already walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

**sent / 21:36**

I never wanted to kiss him.

 

He looks up to find Sherlock staring at him.

**received / 21:27**

Good. SH

 

Laughing softly, John puts his phone back in his pocket, watching Sherlock do the same. Having no idea how long he's gonna have to wait here, he goes to sit at the far end of the bar where he's certain he won't be disturbed. Knowing he won't be able to stare at Matthew and Sherlock constantly or he'll do something stupid, John settles for a game on his phone, glancing up now and then to make sure they haven't gone anywhere. Forty minutes goes by before he receives another text, warning him that they're leaving, and John is already up and ready when he catches Sherlock small nod in his direction.

The outside air makes him shiver, the few people there either smoking or laughing too loudly, but John ignores them. He lets Sherlock and Matthew walk away before starting to follow. He takes out his phone, pretending to talk to someone. Matthew's arm around Sherlock's waist is all he can see, the fingers splayed across Sherlock's hip and he has to take a deep breath to regain some composure. He has no idea where Sherlock is leading him, or what this Matthew is capable of. Sherlock wouldn't have pretended to date him for seven months if it wasn't a serious case, and therefore a dangerous killer.

He stops dead when Matthew pushes Sherlock down a dark alley, and with his entire body tensing, he gets close enough to be able to hear what is happening. The wet sound of kissing makes him grimace, but he remains still, already fearing Matthew might be trying to abuse Sherlock. Cursing himself for not having his gun with him, John takes a step closer to the alley, trying to make sense of the whispers he can now hear.

"You're beautiful," Matthew is saying, followed by more kissing, against Sherlock's skin this time. "I can't believe my luck. The great Sherlock Holmes, just for me."

"Stop," Sherlock says, a little louder. "You know I don't like it when you say that."

"But you're mine," Matthew continues, and John lets out a deep breath. "Your lips are mine, your body is mine. Your skin."

"Matt," Sherlock breathes, his name like a warning.

"So soft, so very soft."

John closes his eyes, on the verge of storming in and breaking the two of them apart.

"It was almost too easy in the end, you know," Matthew says, his tone changing into something darker.

"What was?" Sherlock asks.

"Getting you here," Matthew replies, "right where I wanted you."

John holds his breath, leaning closer.

"I... I don't understand," Sherlock replies, his voice trembling.

"That's the beauty of it," Matthew laughs. "Sherlock Holmes, unable to deduce who his fiancé really is. I have to say, it wasn't easy, and for a long time I was certain you knew, but you were so very in love, tears in your eyes when I proposed, and I knew I had found the one."

John exhales loudly, desperately wanting to intervene now but knowing Sherlock still needs time, still is in control.

He recognizes Sherlock's panting, heavy breathing, "The one?"

"Oh yes," Matthew replies, his smile obvious. "The one I wanted to do for so long, to find the perfect skin, the perfect body. And here you are."

John takes a first step towards the alley, the now complete silence sending him on the edge. He places a hand on his mouth, focusing on what might be happening, on each little sound and a sudden loud noise makes his heart stop. Not hesitating another second, he barges in to find Sherlock holding Matthew to the ground, a syringe in one hand and the other on Matthew's head.

"You didn't wait for the signal," he declares, looking up at him with a victorious smile.

"I figured that was it," John replies, unable to repress a relieved chuckle. "I take it you got what you wanted?" He asks, kneeling next to him to take over, having no remorse in adding a bit more pressure to the hold.

"Obviously," Sherlock replies, phone already in hand. "He was certain I was drugged."

Matthew emits a groan, struggling under John. "Don't move."

"Lestrade, corner of Montague Street," Sherlock says over the phone before hanging up just as quickly. "They're close, it won't take long."

John looks back at him, "The Yard knew?"

"Steve Horsen over here wasn't easy to find," Sherlock explains, starting to pace around the alley. "But once Lestrade realised who Horsen was exactly, he made sure I could have everything I need to frame and catch him."

John glances back at the still silent Mat- no, Horsen. "You really thought you could fool Sherlock Holmes?" Not moving, Horsen only glares up at him. "What? Lost your tongue?"

At the first sound of sirens making their way towards them, John forces Horsen up to his feet, backing him against the wall. "Don't try anything stupid," he warns. "It would only make me too happy to hit you."

Horsen lets out a small laugh, "Your jealousy is pathetic," he breathes, eyes fixed on Sherlock. "Watching the two of you earlier made it all oh so much better."

"Oh please, do shut up," Sherlock sighs, barely glancing at him as he walks out to the street to meet Lestrade.

John keeps an eye on him all the way over there, tightening his grip around Horsen's hands. "You know, Sherlock makes the most delicious sounds when he's being touched."

"Shut up," John groans, breathing out deeply.

"You should try kissing his neck," Horsen continues, laughing. "He absolutely loves it."

"I told you to shut the fuck up!" John yells directly into his ear, anger boiling.

"John," Lestrade calls, followed by two officers. "We'll take it from here. Sherlock is waiting for you in the car."

John, still breathing heavily, closes his eyes, "What about him?"

"He'll follow right behind," Lestrade replies, pulling him away from Horsen. "The sooner we close this case, the better, don't you think?" They remain still for another second, "Go, John."

"Yeah, sorry," John breathes out slowly, taking a step backward and letting one officer handle Horsen. He doesn't wait a moment longer, not giving Horsen the luxury of another glance and walking to the car where Sherlock seems engrossed on his phone. He slams the door behind him, leaning back against the backseat and breathing out deeply. He turns to Sherlock, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Sherlock replies, not looking away from his phone.

John hesitates, not exactly sure what to say next, what there is even to say at all. He looks down at his hands, teeth worrying at his lower lip as the words Horsen spook on a loop inside his head. "Sherlock," he whispers, "Horsen, did he..."

Sherlock's eyes find his, "No."

John lets out a relieve breath, "Sorry, it's just that he said-"

"He wanted you to react, to punch him, so that it will comprise the arrest and make it impossible for Lestrade to keep him in detention tonight," Sherlock explains, putting his phone down to truly look at him. "Horsen likes to kill people, not violate them."

John holds his stare, searching Sherlock's eyes for any sign he might be lying but finding only determination and focus there. They both jump in surprise when Lestrade gets into the car, turning the engine on with a loud sigh. They drive in silence for a long moment, Lestrade talking over the radio to his officer.

"I can't believe we finally got him. Seven bloody months, for christ's sake,” he sighs, this time the words directed at them.

"I did all the work," Sherlock points out.

"I know," Lestrade sighs. "You keep reminding me."

"Well," John says, "he was the one engaged to a killer after all."

Lestrade rolls his eyes, "It was his idea in the first place." He glances at John in the mirror, "I didn't realise you knew."

"Found out today," John replies, looking by the window.

Lestrade clears his throat, turning right into the Yard's car park, "I only need a deposition and then you're free to go."

They fall silent again. John rests his forehead against the glass window, wondering what must he going on inside Lestrade's head right now. Does he sees the situation for what it is, two friends too scared to talk but also who just kissed each other senseless against some club's closed door. Or does he only see two men that time has slowly brought apart, leaving them no other choice but to sit at the back of a police car without having a single idea of what to do next.

"Oh and by the way," Lestrade says, smiling as he turns around to look at them once parked. "Nice costumes." Sherlock is out of the car with another roll of eyes but without a word, and John can't help but return Lestrade's amused smile, "Come on, let's get this over with."

They don't talk much all the way to Lestrade's office, Sherlock already waiting for them, "My clothes?"

"Over there," Lestrade replies, nodding towards a closet. "I didn't know you'd be here," he says, looking at John. "I don't have any for you."

"It's alright," John says, "I put this over my clothes." He glances at Sherlock before he leaves the room, "It was a last minute buy."

Lestrade raises one eyebrow but doesn't say anything, taking off his coat before saying, "Horsen is in room four, let's go."

John removes his costume quickly and peeks at where Sherlock just disappeared, but has no doubt he'll find where they are in no time. Lestrade gives him a pointed look before opening the door, and John gets the silent message in his eyes. They stand in front of the tainted glass, staring at Horsen alone in the interrogation room. "Donovan is going to take care of his deposition. Yours will confirm or contest whatever he says."

"All right," John replies, wishing Horsen could see him standing there.

Sherlock enters without knocking, changed into his navy suit. He meets John's eyes for a brief second before focusing on Horsen. Lestrade sighs loudly before beginning, "Alright, since you don't know much, let's take it from the start. This is Steven Horsen, a serial killer who only kills on Halloween night. He’s already killed four people, but it was Sherlock who managed to link them all a few months ago. All four murders took place in different cities, and with a complete year between them, the police didn't make the connection."

"Idiots," Sherlock comments.

"Anyway," Lestrade continues. "Once we had the four files together it became obvious that our friend here likes to reenact murders from horror movies. He also chooses his victims carefully. All male, his age and most importantly, virgins."

John's breath catches, and he only has the time to notice the flush on Sherlock's cheeks before he’s hiding his face from him. Lestrade, oblivious to it all, continues, "He apparently prefers when his victims die pure and innocent. Completely deranged, if you ask me."

It takes another long minute before John can manage to ask, "Does he propose to all of them?"

"Yes," Sherlock replies, all trace of previous embarrassment gone. "He changes his name every time, and looks for his victim on the Internet. It took me days to find his identity for this year, and then weeks to gain his trust. I couldn't use a fake name myself since our plan included a proposal, and besides, he obviously loved the challenge."

"That he did," Lestrade agrees. "Once he and Sherlock were officially together, we focused all of our efforts to plan tonight. Sherlock made sure that Horsen would chose this club in particular, and even guessed the movie he had in mind."

John raised a questioning eyebrow, and Sherlock shrugs, "Silence of the Lambs, a serial killer that removes his victim's skin."

"This is insane," John breathes, once again stricken by just how much Sherlock had put himself in danger.

"Don't tell me," Lestrade sighs. "We needed to record him, but more importantly, to catch him in the act. Tonight was a success, thanks to Sherlock's planning."

John hides his smile, looking down.

"Do you want to take our depositions here?" Sherlock asks, already one hand on the door handle.

"No, my office is-" Lestrade begins but Sherlock is already gone. "Well, after you," he smiles, letting John go first.

Sherlock is already sitting in one of the chairs facing Lestrade's desk, and John barely has the time to sit down himself before he starts, "Everything went as planned. Horsen bought the costume, came back home around seven and we left at eight-fourteen to go to the club."

"Slow down," Lestrade declares, typing what he just said quickly. "What about you?" He asks, looking up at John.

"I came by Baker Street to ask if Sherlock wanted to come with Rosie and I to go trick or treating. I met Horsen when he got home, and learned Sherlock was engaged."

Lestrade nods, "And Sherlock told you about the case?"

Throat dry, John shakes his head, "Not right away, no."

"When?" Lestrade asks.

"At the club," John replies, keeping his eyes on Lestrade and Lestrade only. "I followed them, and Sherlock noticed me. He then informed me that he was working a case."

"Did Horsen notice you too?"

"No."

"Are you certain?" Lestrade asks.

"He didn't," Sherlock says, "or else he wouldn't have agreed to leave when I suggested it."

Lestrade reads over what he just wrote, "Once you went out, John followed you, right?"

John nods, "Sherlock asked me to remain close and wait for his signal, so I waited by the alley before interfering."

"Did you have your gun with you?" John shakes his head. "Did you hit Horsen?" Another shake. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

Lestrade glances at Sherlock, "You need to tell me if you did. I'd understand considering the situation. But if he claims that he's been maltreated during the arrest, he could-"

"John only took care of keeping him secure," Sherlock declares, standing up. "That's all."

"All right," Lestrade breathes after a beat of silence. "That should be enough for tonight. We'll see what Horsen has to say, but with the file we have, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Don't mess it up, Lestrade," Sherlock says before leaving the room.

"Can you believe him?" Lestrade sighs, getting to his feet when John does too.

"Sorry if I caused any trouble tonight," John apologizes, putting his coat back on.

Lestrade pats his shoulder, "I should be the one apologizing. I should have told you about the case, I can't imagine what must have gone through your head when you found out Sherlock was engaged."

John doesn't reply, giving the DI one last nod before leaving. He looks around in case Sherlock had waited for him there, but catches no sight of darks curls or long coat. He slides both hands into his coat pockets, the prospect of all there is to come now making it hard to focus. He returns two or three smiles from officers he can't remember the name of, and climbs the stairs down to the main entrance with a brand new ache settling in his chest. He stops dead when he notices Sherlock smoking outside, his back turned to him and his head falling backward, as if he was staring at the stars. _He's beautiful_ , John thinks, having stopped breathing. _He's beautiful and he has no idea just how much_. John's hands tighten into fists inside his pocket, words he had kept silent for too long threatening to spill out only for an empty hall to witness them. _He needs to hear them, needs to understand just how desperate I am to be the one that can be the source of his happiness, the only one who knows how to make him smile and laugh or even cry._  

With his heart on his lips, John pushes the front door open and steps out in the open. The noise of the city reassures him, making all of it almost natural, the two of them standing right in the middle of the city and yet trapped in their own time and space.

Sherlock doesn't move, and John stops when he's close enough to discern his profile. Yes, he smiles, staring at the stars. They remain silent for what could be hours, but John knows barely a few minutes pass before his lets his voice fill the air, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock's lips curl into a smile, "I was under the impression we weren't talking."

John takes the punch without a word, looking down at his feet and sighing.

"You don't need to apologize again," Sherlock breathes.

"I never did," John replies, pushing away the first tremor of guilt and anger. "You never let me." Sherlock rolls his head to the side, eyeing him silently. John takes it as its cue to continue. "I couldn't simply show up at Baker Street and pretend we were alright. No matter what you said, or what I did for that matter. No matter if we're both just human."

Sherlock finishes his cigarette with a slow shake of his head, "Do we really need t-"

"Yes," John cuts him off, refusing to let it go once again. "Do you know you always do this?" Sherlock frowns, and John can't help but smile. "Every time I do something bad, every time I cross the line, you act as if I was still so bloody exemplary, that I just slipped but didn't mean any of it."

"I..." Sherlock starts, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "No, I didn't notice I did."

John shrugs, "The real problem was that I never got to really, and I do mean really, question myself. Christ," he sighs, "I sound like a proper jerk."

"You're many things, John," Sherlock replies, eyes locked with his. "But you've never been a jerk."

"It doesn't change the fact that I couldn't face what I did to you," John continues, shivering. "We went to get you that ridiculous birthday cake, said goodbye and I watched you go feeling like I would never see you again."

"That's ridiculous," Sherlock mocks, but there isn't a trace of amusement in the line of his face.

"It's really not," John whispers. "I wrote you the most awful letter, Sherlock. I put down in words feelings that I should have talked about with someone else before. As always, I acted before thinking, and as always you were the one I was hurting."

Sherlock stares at him for a long moment, eyes roaming all over his face, and John lets him read there everything he's feeling in this very moment.

"Talking," Sherlock breathes finally, "was never our forte."

A bright laugh breaches John's lips, and Sherlock smiles back at him. "Which is why we can continue this way."

The sound of a klaxon startles them, and they both look back toward the street.

"You want to talk," Sherlock declares.

"Yes," John replies, feeling tired all the sudden.

"Tonight."

John glances at him, "It can wait but-"

"No," Sherlock says, eyes meeting his. "Tonight."

John nods sharply. Sherlock doesn't look away, and for a second John is certain he has stopped blinking. His voice is strangely soft when it breaks the silence, "I thought about telling you but it seemed that picking up the phone was too difficult. I opened a new message a dozen times the first day Horsen moved in. I was suddenly living with someone again, a murderer yes, but most of all, someone that wasn't you. He was sitting in your chair, and drinking out of your mug, and I couldn't take it."

John holds his breath, keeping all the questions jostling inside his head silent.

"But I didn't send that text, or all the others for that matter," Sherlock continues, having now turned to face him. "Mrs Hudson begged me to call you, Lestrade told me about all the times you asked for news, and I realised I was angry." He stops, breathing out deeply. "At you." John shudders, refusing to break their eye contact. "Why should I be the one to text or call? You had a phone too if you were using it to call Lestrade. You could be the one to reach out."

John's hand is reaching out of his of pocket and gripping Sherlock's coat before he can stop himself, breathing heavily, "See," he whispers. "There is so much we need to say to the other, so much to explain." Sherlock closes his eyes, his shoulders dropping. "But not here."

"Home," Sherlock breathes.

John drops his hand from his coat to his hand, waiting until he's looking back at him before saying, "Home."

Sherlock's fingers lace with his own slowly, neither of them moving for another second before walking closer to the road. It only takes a minute for Sherlock to hail a cab, and if the entire ride is spent in complete silence, John knows it won't last long once they're back where they always belong.


	2. but i'm the one you're taking home

"I need to go check on Rosie," John declares when they finally park in front of Baker Street. Sherlock isn't looking at him, having let go of his hand now and started at the window the entire ride, and John can't help but feel as if the situation is once again slipping through his fingers. He breathes out slowly, handing the money to the driver before saying, "Shouldn't take long."

Sherlock nods once, sharply, and gets out of the car without a word. Deciding not to let it overwhelm him just yet, John joins him on the pavement. They remain there for a long moment, neither one of them moving, speaking or even breathing it seems.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier," Sherlock finally says, turning to face him.

John tries not to think of everything they’d talked about, and swallows around the lump in his throat, "Earlier?"

"I do miss her," Sherlock continues, and John forces himself not to close his eyes with relief. "I know I've barely seen her, and that I have absolutely no rights whatsoever to her well-being, but I can't let you think I do not care about her."

"I never thought you didn't," John replies, taking a step closer, unable to stop himself. "She knows your name, you know. Just this morning, she was searching for you." He smiles as Sherlock frowns at him. "Well, she calls you 'Lock, but I think it's a clear sign of how much I must be talking about you all the time."

He doesn't look away, daring to hold Sherlock's studying stare.

"She knows my name," Sherlock breathes, and only loud laughter from across the street stops John from pulling him into his arms. Sherlock's eyes glance to the group of students, tensing again. "I'll wait for you upstairs," he declares, opening the door and John watches him climb the stairs without a word.

He allows himself a moment to breathe, to let all that happened sink in but also acknowledge all that is still to come. He can't mess it up, can't let it all fall apart around them without any hope of putting it back together afterward. They've done that too many times, let their world crumble just standing by without doing anything to prevent it. And now that _more_ is right within their reach, John needs to make sure they get there, _together._

"John, is that you?"

John looks up to find Mrs Hudson peeking through her door, "Yes."

"Everything's alright, dear?" She asks, stepping into the hall.

John nods, "I've just come to make sure Rosie was ok."

"She fell asleep two hours ago," Mrs Hudson replies, "everything's fine."

"I'll let her sleep here tonight, if that's still alright with you?"

"Of course," Mrs Hudson smiles and John watches as the question she's been obviously dying to ask finally breaches her lips, "What about Matthew then?"

"Just a case," John replies, surprised that speaking the words out loud makes something bright burst through his chest, and he finds himself laughing. "It was all for a case."

"Oh John," Mrs Hudson smiles, gathering him into her arms. "I knew it. Now I do hope the two of you will stop acting like idiots."

John laughs again, "I think it's about time, yes."

"Then off you go," she declares, letting go of him. "I have everything I need for Rosie here, so you take your time, understood?"

"That all depends on him," John breathes, worry creeping through his head again.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Mrs Hudson replies, smiling softly at him before pushing him towards the stairs with a pointed look. "Up you go."

John climbs the first step, waiting until he hears the door closing, and breathing deeply. There is no backing out now, and whatever happens once he joins Sherlock, he's ready to face it. The flat is deeply silent when he enters the sitting room, and it only takes a second to guess that Sherlock must have gone directly to his chair and not moved since. He doesn't say a word either as John sits in his own chair, relieving in the familiar warmth, and dares to look up at Sherlock's face.

A second passes, then, "I'm seeing Ella again."

Sherlock raises one eyebrow, questioning.

"I went back to see her after the Culverton case," he continues, smiling. "I don't know why I went looking for anyone else in the first place, she's always been the only one who truly knew what I needed to hear." Sherlock glances down at his own hands. "Or maybe I should have just talked to you."

"I thought we established that neither of us is good at... this," Sherlock replies, waving his hand between them.

John shrugs, "I think tonight was a good start. Yeah?"

Sherlock stares back at him for a moment, and John marvels at the sight of a faint blush spreading to his neck and cheeks. He promptly looks away, not sure yet on how Sherlock will react to any of this.

"She's been helping me face what I've done... to you," John breathes. "She made me realise just how the conversation we had on your birthday didn't fix anything. If only it made it worse, making both of us believe we had found a solution, that we sorted things through and that we could go on as if nothing happened."

"Isn't it what we do best?" Sherlock asks, taking John by surprise. "Don't look at me like that. I'm simply pointing out facts, isn't it what you're trying to do?"

"I don't know," John sighs. "When I first sat in front of her again, Ella called me an idiot. I think I laughed, but she wasn't trying to be funny. In just fifteen minutes, she put in very simple words everything she had been trying to make me say, make me realise on my own." John stops, staring back at Sherlock, a knot forming inside his chest. "She said you came to see her too."

"Isn't she supposed to keep her clients a secret?" Sherlock protests.

"Don't worry, she didn't tell me what the two of you talked about," John assures him, and Sherlock looks away again. "She thought it would help me understand that there are things I've been keeping to myself for years, and that it was about time I do something about it. So I want to do just that. Now. " John waits for any sign of discomfort or rejection from Sherlock. Their eyes meet for the briefest of seconds but all John catches is a glimpse of the bare fear in Sherlock's. Forcing himself to control his own fears, John finally lets it all out. "What I did to you is unforgivable. All that I've done to you. From the moment we met. I have issues, I know that now. I can't control my anger, well, couldn't. I've been working on it, every single day for the past six weeks."

Sherlock looks puzzled for a moment, and John inhales deeply before continuing.

"Ella recommended some anger management classes, and we meet regularly to talk about it too. I can now recognize and analyse the situations that trigger me, and it allows me to regain control over myself." He stops, breathes. "It doesn't excuse what I did, and -"

"You've apologized already," Sherlock cuts him off. "There's no need to do it again."

"I want to," John replies.

Sherlock shakes his head, threading fingers through his curls, "I'm tired, John. Tired of the apologies, of the texts, of the letters and everything. All of those things we never addressed. We were never fine in the first place, John, and I think it's time we face it like grown ups."

"Are you saying we should stop? Give up entirely?" John asks once he manages to find his voice again. Sherlock remains silent, staring back at him. Only then does John realise neither of them has bothered to turn on the light, and he wonders just how lost in their own head they must have been. Still are. "You're right," he whispers. "I'm tired, too."

Sherlock's eyes flutter closed for a second, then focus sharply on his again. "You know the way ou-"

"Why did you kiss me?" John stops him, now focused on his every reaction.

"Why did you dance with that man?" Sherlock counters immediately.

John feels his lips curl into a smile, "I was trying to make you jealous. Arnold's idea, really." At least this makes Sherlock react, and John gives him another moment to process it. "I acted before I could think, but I don't regret it. I wanted to get back at you, for Horsen, for kicking me out of the flat, for dancing with him."

Sherlock opens his mouth a few times before finally saying, "I deduced your jealousy the moment you saw Horsen. You've always been jealous, whether it was aimed at clients, officers or even Moriarty. You've always been horrible at hiding it."

John doesn't bother to feign surprise. he always wondered how the great Sherlock Holmes had never managed to see through him anyway. "And what can we deduce about that?" He asks, daring to lean to the edge of his chair, thinking back on all the occasion he did just that, fantasizing about doing much more too.  

Silence falls in the room, the moon casting a faint light over the two of them. Sherlock doesn't move for a long moment, not answering his question but his distant mask slowly falling apart. Neither of them say a word as Sherlock gets to his feet, walking to the window and stopping there, staring outside. John closes his eyes, breathing out slowly and gathering the courage to say, "I don't want to continue like this." He stands up. "We can't."

He walks to Sherlock slowly, only hesitating a second before sliding both arms around his waist and resting his forehead against his upper back. He feels Sherlock shiver, feels him tense too only to relax immediately, almost leaning back into him. Smiling, John murmurs, "There is only one thing I should have told you so many times, and even if I hadn't found you with Horsen tonight, I was coming to tell you anyway."

"John," Sherlock breathes softly.

"I am in love with you, Sherlock," John says, something warm blooming inside his chest. "I have been in love with you for a very long time, and continued to love you despite everything life threw our way." Sherlock is shaking now, and John is certain he's the one holding them both up. "And I love being in love with you, I love the way it makes everything sharper, brighter. I love that it kept me aching and broken when you left because it meant I was still  able to feel something, still holding on to you. I love the way it makes me want to be touching you, to be breathing you in, to be kissing you all the time."

Sherlock turns in his arms before John can register what is happening, and two strong hands are now cupping his face, Sherlock's panting breath against his lips. They stare into each other eyes for a small eternity, John finding it harder and harder not to bring those lips to his. "I love you," he says instead, the words having remained stuck in his throat for too long. "I should have told you, the very night we met, right when we were leaning against that wall and I thought to myself that this was being alive felt like, that you were the one. You had brought me back to life with sharp deductions in cabs and chases around London."

Sherlock smiles, his entire face lighting up, and John holds on tightly to his suit.

"John", Sherlock murmurs again, his name holding promises that make them both shiver.

"You kissed me, Sherlock, and I haven't been able to think about anything else since," John says, voice shivering and his every sense on alert. "And I know you're tired, but if you let me, I'd like us to try just once more, to give us another chance before givi-"

Sherlock doesn't give him the time to finish, sealing their lips in a kiss that makes them both moan. It only takes a second for John to realise this kiss is nothing like the one they shared just hours ago, and a second more to understand why. He smiles against Sherlock's lips, pulling away only to brush their mouths together again softly, the ghost of a kiss. Sherlock is still panting, still shaking, and John slides one hand up his arm and onto his neck, thumbs stroking his skin slowly. He kisses along his jaw, chin and back to the corner of his lips, letting Sherlock seek back his mouth tentatively. Sherlock's lips are firm but hesitant against his, and John allows him to go at his own pace, the urgency of their previous kiss turning this one into so much more.

This is the real Sherlock, the one whose mouth doesn't know how to linger against his, whose hands don't know what to hold, whose body doesn't seem to be able to obey anymore. And John falls in love all over again. He raises his other hand to Sherlock's curls, holding him close for another moment before breaking them apart, "Sherlock?" he whispers, but Sherlock's eyes are closed and his hands that are still around his face bring him back for another kiss. John chuckles softly, letting Sherlock tilt his head to the right and deepening the kiss with a tentative stroke of his tongue against John's lower lip. John parts them slowly, searching for Sherlock's tongue and making them both moan again.

John isn't sure how long they remain this way, pulling away only to kiss again right away, but Sherlock is slowly relaxing into the touch, making it easier for John to truly break them apart this time, "Sofa?" He asks, taking advantage of Sherlock's dazzled look to walk them both towards it. He sits down slowly, Sherlock taking the space next to him, and he waits until Sherlock's eyes focus on him again before saying, "All right?"

Sherlock stares at him before shaking his head, but John doesn't have the time to panic before he's being pushed to lie down. He laughs as Sherlock lies on top of him before groaning and pulling him up to take his place. His laughter is still echoing in the dark room,  as John lets himself be pulled down. "Satisfied?" He asks, lying half on top of Sherlock now, and his breath catches when he feels Sherlock nuzzle his head against his neck. "You did this at the club, switching our position."

Sherlock shrugs, not replying, and John is about to continue when Sherlock pulls away and seals their lips again. John melts into the touch, kissing back without a second thought and he feels Sherlock shake again. He holds him closer but makes sure he will be able to break away if he wants to, and long minutes go by before they both pull away, panting. "I know what you're wondering," Sherlock says, his voice barely a whisper. "And the answer is yes."

John exhales loudly, "We have all the time in the world."

Sherlock shakes his head, "At the club, I was acting high on adrenaline. I didn't think, didn't question what I was doing. We were kissing and suddenly I needed to be the one against that door, to be entirely surrounded by you. Like you explained yourself. I just acted."

John nods slowly, "And now..."

"Now I haven't a single idea of what I'm doing," Sherlock breathes, one finger finding the lines around John's mouth. "With Horsen," he continues, John barely able to repress a disgusted shiver at the name, "I always managed to find excuses not to join him in bed, and besides, the whole virgin thing played in my favor all along."

John licks his lips, dozens of questions on the tips of his tongue. "The two of you seemed pretty close," he says instead.

Sherlock looks away at the words, "I might have been trying to make you jealous."

"You mean more jealous," John replies, smiling as he uses one hand to force Sherlock to look back at him. "It worked."

"I know.”

They stare at each other for a long moment.

"I have a question," John finally breathes.

"I know."

John smiles, "Is it alright to ask it?"

Sherlock studies him, silent, and nods.

"Twice you said Horsen liked his victims to be virgins," he says, refusing to look away from Sherlock's eyes. "Did you fake that too?"

Sherlock sighs deeply, the hand that had been playing with John's shirt holding on tighter, "No, I didn't need to."

John swallows slowly, tongue licking his lip as he says, "You know I don't mind, right?" Sherlock shrugs, looking away. "I truly don't. All I care about is what you are comfortable with, what you like, what you want to do."

Sherlock doesn't reply, pulling him closer and kissing him again, deeply. John breathes out loudly, kissing him back with passion, desperate to make Sherlock understand that they do have all the time in the world to discover all there is to know about each other.

"Oh," Sherlock says suddenly, pulling away and staring at him with wide eyes. "I didn't tell you."

"What?" John frowns.

"I love you," Sherlock breathes, close. "I meant to say it back when you told me, but I... forgot."

John chuckles, wondering if this what happiness tastes like. "You forgot," he says, unable to stop smiling.

"Sorry," Sherlock mutters, eyes now back on his lips.

"You could make it up to me," John offers, and Sherlock glances back up at him, questioning. "Kiss me," John demands, and it's Sherlock's turn to chuckle softly before doing so. John represses another laugh, letting Sherlock part his lips slowly. He doesn't move when he feels one of Sherlock's hand slide down his back, stopping there. His own hands wander up and down his chest softly, giving Sherlock the chance to pull away if he needs to.

They kiss lazily for a long moment, Sherlock seeking his lips as soon as each kiss ends, and John obliges him happily. He can feel his body starting to react from the closeness of Sherlock's in the most delicious way, each touch electrifying. It isn't hard to guess what the shivers running through Sherlock mean, and John finds that he rather likes being the cause of each and every one of them. Threading his fingers through Sherlock's curls, he breathes, "There's still so much I want to tell you, to ask you," he smiles, kissing Sherlock's temple, "but it can wait for tomorrow, you must be exhausted."

"I don't want to move," Sherlock replies, his face finding the crook of John's neck away. "You can ask. I can’t promise I’ll have the answers."

"What about yes or no question?" John asks, burying his nose in his hair and breathing him in. Sherlock nods slowly after a moment, and John considers his first question for a long moment, enjoying Sherlock's warm and pliant body against his. He finally asks, "Are you comfortable with what we've done so far."

No hesitation, "Yes."

"Are you comfortable right now," John continues, "with the talking?"

A second passes. "Yes."

John licks his lips slowly, closing his eyes, "Have you thought about this before?"

"Yes."

"I did too, you know, rather a lot," John smiles. "Did it feel good, when you thought about it?"

"No." And then, "Yes."

John exhales loudly, one hand coming up to trace patterns on Sherlock's back, "Did you think it would happen at some point?"

"At first, yes," Sherlock replies. "But then, no, not anymore."

John nods slowly, considering his next words carefully, "Was there a point when you just decided to give up?"

Sherlock is silent for a long moment, only the sound of their breathing filling the air, and John focuses on the feeling on Sherlock's breath against his neck. He's not even sure he wants to hear the answer to his question. It seems as if he had given up himself so many times, and yet always came back here, home, with the same hope bursting in his chest.

"I'm not sure," Sherlock finally whispers. "I think on some level, I had given up very early on, but I might have been just fooling myself in believing that I had."

"I understand," John says softly, as Sherlock starts to shake in his arms again. "After all we've been through, all that's happened, I think we didn't have any other choice than to believe it would never happen."

The hand in his shirt tightens, and John brings their bodies closer.

"But it's happening," Sherlock breathes, almost in wonder.

"Yes," John replies, unable to stop himself from kissing Sherlock's temple for a long moment. "It is." Sherlock remains where he is, unmoving. "When did you know?"

"That's not a yes or no question, John."

"I know." He feels Sherlock's smile against his skin. "You don't have to answer."

"I'm not sure I can pinpoint the moment it began," Sherlock says with a shake of his head. "Was it during cases, chases or stake outs, in dark alleys, cabs or trains? Or was it in restaurants, shops or hotels, during mornings here or diners anywhere else." He stops. "I can't be sure, can't tell when I realised you were right here and I didn't want you gone, didn't want you to take another step except if it was towards me." He exhales loudly, and John waits patiently. "I know now that I spent too long denying it was happening at all, that I kept my eyes closed against all the obvious signs, and that when I finally came to terms with all I was feeling, it was too late."

"You realise it's all fine," John says, suddenly afraid. "It's perfectly all right to have had doubts."

"Is it?" Sherlock asks in a whisper. "Aren't you supposed to know and fight for it and never give up?"

"That's utter bullshit," John sighs. "For children and fairy tales. But real life is much more complicated than that... and I guess we didn't make it any easier." Sherlock chuckles at that, but John hates the note of sadness in it. "But I love you, Sherlock Holmes, and as silly as it may sound, I wouldn't change a thing if it means being here with you right now."

Sherlock pulls away at that, studying him closely, "Even the fall?"

John takes the punch in silence, "Yes. I'm not saying it didn't hurt, still does, but I've come to understand why you did what you did."

"But you still haven't forgiven me," Sherlock says, matter-of-factly.

John takes the time to breathe in deeply, "I don't know, Sherlock. I don't know because just talking about it makes it hard to breathe right now, and there are still nights when I can hear the sound of your body crashing onto the pavement, so I don't know."

Sherlock nods slowly, eyes roaming all over his face, and John leans in for a quiet brush of lips.

"I'm certain there are things you haven't forgive me for as well."

Sherlock shakes his head, "No," he replies, too quickly.

John strokes his cheek softly, "Tell me."

"I..." Sherlock begins, sighing. "I have no right to-"

"Tell me," John repeats, trying his best to sound as reassuring as possible.

It takes another long minute before Sherlock finally confesses, "Mary." John swallows with difficulty, remaining silent to encourage him to continue. "I know it's my fault, that I'd gone away and you couldn't just wait for me when I had no idea myself when I'd be back."

"But?"

"But," Sherlock breathes, closing his eyes. "But I had spent two years thinking about nothing else but coming back to you, and there weren't any doubts anymore. I was in love with you, and I was going to do everything in my power to survive Moriarty and come back to tell you." He pauses. "And then there was Mary, kind, sweet Mary that liked me and let you live the life all your previous girlfriends didn't understand. And you stayed with her, John."

"I...," John tries but decides against it, watching Sherlock's face change with the memories.

"You had to notice," Sherlock breathes, sounding pained now. "I wasn't hiding, wasn't trying to anymore. I couldn't. You were right here again, and all I wished was to bring you closer, closer, closer."

John traces the lines around Sherlock's eyes slowly until he looks back at him, "The stag night," he whispers.

Sherlock nods, "You had to notice. Tell me you noticed."

"I was getting married," John explains, "but you were back, and with you all the feelings I had tried to forget. And that night, jesus, I could have kissed you a thousand times, could have pulled you onto my lap and kissed you for hours."

"Why didn't you?" Sherlock murmurs.

John searches for a way to explain all that went through his head that night, how beautiful Sherlock was, how close he had been to letting it all go and giving in, but the words are stuck in his throat. Sherlock's fingers trace his lower lip, speaking for him, "That's just what we do, miss opportunities because we're too afraid."

"What we did," John corrects him. Sherlock smiles, fingers falling back to the sofa. "I'm sorry I married her."

Sherlock shrugs, "You're loyal. You kept your engagement."

"I didn't bloody care about my engagement," John asserts. "I should have put an end to it all sooner, when I realised I would never love her the way I love you, that I would never care for her the way I care for you. For god’s sake, she shot you Sherlock. For a minute there, you were dead. You died and she didn’t apologized, never.” He closes his eyes, breathing out deeply. “You've always been the one person I imagined myself growing old with, Sherlock." Sherlock remains silent, watching him closely for several seconds. "I hope you'll find a way to forgive me, one day."

Sherlock doesn't reply, doesn't lie, and John thanks him silently.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes or No answer?" John replies, smiling. Sherlock rolls his eyes, and John kisses him softly. "Go ahead."

Sherlock is still gazing at his lips when he says, "At the tarmac, I almost told you. Would it have changed something if I did?"

John considers the question for a moment, "About what happened next?" Sherlock nods. "I think it would have, yes. If you had told me, I couldn't have gone back to Mary. She already suspected, always teased me about it, and it would have been impossible to stay away from you."

"Do you think she would have hurt you in return, considering who she was?"

"Is that why you didn't say anything?" John asks by way of answer.

"Maybe," Sherlock replies. "I'm not sure."

"I think she would have done something, yes. She did end up bringing us apart slowly, and I've come to believe she enjoyed it," John says, having spent too many hours in the dark thinking about this already. "But it wouldn't have mattered, we would have faced her together."

Sherlock remains still for a minute before burying his face back into John's neck, the words he speaks almost too quiet, "Are you still mad at me for her death?"

"I had no right to be mad at you in the first place," John replies immediately. "You know what I had been doing back then. Our marriage was over, that's a fact. I didn't love her anymore, and only stayed for Rosie. I was too afraid of what she could do to leave. But I think her past would have caught up with her no matter what."

"I never liked her," Sherlock confesses. "I tried, but I just couldn't-" he chokes on the words, and John holds him tighter.

"Shhh," he whispers. "We don't have to talk about this now. It's over, she's gone and we're here. I truly believe the best thing to do now is move forward and try to let what happened or could have happened stay in the past. Don't you think?"

Sherlock nods, not saying anything, and John just holds him close.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"There's another reason why I never said anything."

John holds his breath, somehow already knowing. "Yes?"

"You're not an idiot, no matter what I say, and you know relationships aren't what I’m... best at," Sherlock begins carefully. "We've already established that framing Horsen was easier thanks to the whole virgin angle, but it also means that..." he sighs, falling silent.

"I already told you," John smiles, "I don't mind."

"Yes," Sherlock replies, "but it doesn't change the fact that the fear of letting you down kept me awake for too many nights. It doesn’t matter how much I want, you because there are times when that’s all I can think of. How much I crave you, even if I don’t know what it means, don’t know if this how everyone feels. I want to explore all of you, every inch of you, all the time, and I have no idea what to do."

"Are you still afraid now?" John asks, understanding exactly how Sherlock must feel.

"Yes."

"I have an idea," John murmurs, using both hands to encourage Sherlock to look back at him. "Can I try?" Sherlock nods, eyes half closed. "I want you to think about all the times you wanted me, wanted to kiss me or touch me, all the times you wondered what sex with me would be like."

"John, I..." Sherlock says, now blushing.

"Don't worry," John says, smiling. "I've thought about it quite a bit too. So I'm going to do the same, and when you're ready, I want you to tell about me about one of those times, and I'll tell you some of my thoughts too. Is that alright?" Sherlock remains silent, staring at him with his flush now spreading to his neck. "I can start, if you want?"

Sherlock nuzzles back against him as an answer, and John breathes out deeply as he searches where to begin.

"Alright, let's see. I remember wanting to kiss you a little while after I moved in. You were working on an experiment that involved yelling on the phone at three in the morning. I was trying to sleep, and failing obviously, and I remember thinking I could shut you up with a kiss, and maybe even convince you to sleep if I took you up to my bed and found ways to tire you out."

He feels Sherlock shiver, and for a long moment they don't say another word. John accepts it, and lets it go, not wanting to force Sherlock to share anything he's not comfortable with, and he closes his eyes. He could fall asleep here, warm against Sherlock's body and with the certainty that he'll be waking up next to him.

"10th of March 2010," Sherlock suddenly says. "You were sleeping in your chair. I wanted to join you. I thought about what you would say once you woke up, if you would kiss me, hold me close and let me explore all of you."

John releases a loud breath, licking his lips. His turn. "One of my most recurrent dreams involved coming home to find you waiting for me, silent and mysterious, and without a word, you would undress me and deduce all the touches and kisses that would drive me insane with desire."

Sherlock exhales loudly against his neck, and John shivers at the faint touch of tongue against his skin. "The stag night," he whispers, and John had been wondering if either of them would be brave enough to talk about it.

"Yes," he whispers.

"Your legs were wide open," Sherlock continues, and each hot breath against John's neck is a sweet torture.

"Yours too," John replies, barely repressing a shiver.

Sherlock swallows loudly, "You leaned in, one knee on the floor, your hand on my knee."

"God, Sherlock," John moans, "I would have taken you in my mouth right there and then."

Sherlock's entire body shudders, a groan escaping him, the most sensual sound John has ever heard. "I wanted to do that... to you," he says, one hand now tugging at John's shirt, almost pulling it out of his trousers. "I wanted to discover your taste, inch by inch, vein after vein. I couldn't think about anything else, couldn't focus on the game."

"Fuck," John curses, not realising this plan of his might not have been that clever after all. He breathes out deeply, the hand that had been drifting down Sherlock's back stopping.

"Sorry," Sherlock murmurs. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," John cuts him off. "I want to hear it, all of it. Everything you want to share."

Sherlock nods, and they both remain silent for several minutes. It takes a second for John to realise they're both trying to regain some composure, and he stops himself from shifting closer to check if Sherlock is also erect. His panting breath is betraying him already, but John finds that he's dying to feel him hard against him again.

"Your turn," Sherlock finally says, having apparently taken back control, or doing a good job of pretending to.

John thinks for a long moment, wondering if he should also go into more detail, share some more private thoughts, all without overwhelming Sherlock. He resumes the pattern on his back, and says, "Do you remember the night we spent at that hotel during the Baskerville case?" Sherlock nods, breath catching. "You said you didn't need to sleep, and so I went to bed alone, but you’d remained in the room. It took me hours to fall asleep. I couldn't stop thinking... fantasizing about all that could happen." He stops, licking his lips. "Can I share it with you?"

Sherlock's voice is hoarse as he says, "Yes."

"I imagined falling asleep to the sound of you pacing in the room," John begins, closing his eyes, the images coming to him so easily. "I would eventually wake up, and you had gone to bed after all. You'd be lying next to me, very close, and I would be hard. Maybe I was already dreaming about you, or my body knew that you were right there, it doesn't matter because you weren't asleep but staring at me." John stops to breathe in deeply. "We'd be face to face, and you would know I had an erection. And I'd notice that you had one too, impressively hard already, and neither of us would say a word as we slip our hands in our respective pants."

"John," Sherlock pants, shifting closer and, fuck, that feels amazing.

"We would stroke ourselves, watching the other, but it wouldn't be enough," John continues, panting. "I'd be the one to remove my pants first, then you, but you'd be the first to reach for me, closing your hand around me and stroking so very slowly. I'm afraid, as all fantasy, it gets blurry after that, but there'd be kissing and stroking and panting, and you coming in my hand, crying out my name."

Sherlock goes very still against him, and John actually fears for a moment that he has gone too far, but then Sherlock is pressing them tightly together, still very hard. "John," he says, out of breath before crashing their mouths together, and it takes all of John's self control not to properly roll on top of him. He tries to take control over the kiss, giving Sherlock what he wants without giving too much, and when they part, Sherlock's eyes are dark with desire.

"Do you have some too?" He asks, breathing hard. "Fantasies?" Sherlock nods sharply. "Could you tell me one?"

Sherlock's eyes drop to his lips, "Will you let me touch you afterward?"

"Christ, Sherlock, yes," John moans.

"Is it alright if my fantasy is from the same night?"

John smiles, "More than alright."

"It begins quite the same way," Sherlock starts, not hiding his face this time. "You're in the bed and I join you when I'm certain you're asleep. It takes a long time to find sleep myself, but when I wake up, we're wrapped around each other. I have my head on your chest, and your arm is around my waist." Sherlock pauses, eyes dropping to the bulge in John's trousers. "We're both erect, and that's when I realise you're also awake. You don't give me the time to find excuses and kiss me, for several minutes. We don't talk much either, and you lie down on top of me, and it would all be about friction and kissing until we both orgasm."

John, unable to stop smiling at this point, breathes, "Yours is so much more romantic."

"I liked yours a lot, as well," Sherlock says, blushing.

John strokes a curl off his forehead, "Sherlock, I don't want you to worry about sex. We've both been thinking about this for quite a long time, and I'm certain it'll be brilliant, we'll be brilliant."

"But what if it's everything but that?"

"I won't let it happen," John says. "And neither will you. I know you. We're going to take our time, and we'll figure it out together."

Sherlock stares at him for a long moment, "There's something you need to understand, John. Fantasies are all I’ve have for years, but you are very real right now. And earlier at the club, feeling you desperate for me made me realise that all those fantasies weren't enough. When you take me to bed tonight, I believe that how they say, I don't want just friction and kissing."

"That's exactly how they say," John replies directly against Sherlock's lips.

"I might have no idea what I'm supposed to do once we get there," Sherlock continues, smiling but blushing too, "but I know I want to be yours entirely."

John fights to finds the words that can express everything that's happening inside his head right now, and only manages to say, "I want to give you everything, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock seals their lips, the kiss tasting of a desire neither of them can truly express but also of a fear that has been hovering above them for too long. Kissing him harder, John finally allows their bodies to close the remaining distance between them. He swallows Sherlock's moan as soon as their erections meet in the middle, the contact both too much and yet not enough at the same time.

"I know you said you never joined Horsen in bed," John pants when they pull away for air, "but i'd rather take you upstairs, if you don't mind." Sherlock nods his head, not bothering to reply and choosing to kiss him again instead. The moment John's hips begin to roll on their own volition, he pushes Sherlock away and asks, "Are you absolutely certain?"

He watches as Sherlock tries to regain some composure, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, "As much as I can be."

John kisses him softly, starting to straighten up and Sherlock follows quickly. One finger brushing Sherlock's curls off his forehead, John says, "I'm going to go upstairs, but you're going to take your time before joining me. We're both craving more right now, but I don't want to rush this."

"You're having second thoughts," Sherlock declares, looking away.

"No," John asserts, meeting his eyes again. "But there are things we need, and I'm hoping that the time it will take us to get them will also allow us to cool down a bit."

"Oh," Sherlock breathes, blushing even more.

"You're so beautiful," John smiles, not quite believing his luck. "I'm the luckiest man alive."

Sherlock rolls his eyes but there's something soft and trusting on his face that makes John's heart miss a beat.

"I'll get everything ready upstairs, and then wait for you to join me. All right?"

Sherlock nods, and with one last kiss, John detaches himself from him. He engraves the sight before him in his memory, already fearing the years will make him forget just how breathtaking Sherlock had looked that first night. "I love you," he breathes, already desperately wanting to have Sherlock pressed against him.

Sherlock smiles, a bright, open smile, "Do you know you're doing that out loud?"

"Sorry, I'll shut up," John replies, unable to repress a laugh.

"No," Sherlock replies, standing up and stopping in front of him, "It's fine."

John pulls him in for a quick kiss, their laughter filling the room, "You bloody romantic."

Sherlock shrugs, already walking to the bathroom and John takes a deep breath before climbing the stairs to his room two by two. He finds the sheets clean (thank you Mrs Hudson) and even some towels on the chair. For a moment, he wonders if Sherlock had asked Mrs Hudson to keep the room ready in case he came by, and the thought makes John want to rush back downstairs and hold Sherlock for years and years.

He goes to the bed instead, knowing Sherlock needs this time alone just as much as he does. He pull the covers down the bed, and moves to open the window just a little. Casting a quick look around the room, he decides to only leave the light on the bedside table on. He's just about to sit down and wait when he hears footsteps on the stairs. He smiles, feeling as a bloody teenager right before his first time. He can't imagine what must be going through Sherlock's head.

"John?" He hears outside the door, almost hesitant.

"Come in."

Sherlock is holding a small tube in one hand, the other clenched around the door handle, "I didn't have any condoms but I thought that we didn't need any since I've never done anything, and considering you are a doctor, it seems logical that you get tested regularly. Besides, I don't ever plan on doing this with anyone else, so condoms aren't that necessary when you think abou-"

"Sherlock," John stops him, smiling. "You're rambling."

"Sorry."

John closes the few steps that separate them, cupping his head with both hands, "We don't need condoms. I'm clean and don't plan on sleeping with anyone else either."

Sherlock lets out a relieved breath.

"Were you really worried about this?"

"We didn't exactly talk about it," Sherlock points out.

"Well, I'm telling you now," John says. "I want you and you only."

"As you may have deduced, the feeling is reciprocal."

John laughs softly, grabbing the bottle of lube from Sherlock's hand, "Come on."

They walk to the bed without looking away from each other eyes, and when John pulls them both down, Sherlock has stopped breathing entirely. He places the bottle next to the pillow, not needing it now anyway, and strokes Sherlock's cheeks slowly, "Anything in particular you want to begin with?"

Sherlock's eyes drop to his chest, "I believe it'll be easier if we undress."

"Right," John smiles, having now guessed from Sherlock's fantasies that the discovery of each other is important. "Go ahead."

The finger Sherlock raises tentatively is shaking as it pops the first button of John's shirt open. Holding his breath, John looks down to watch the rest of them be opened until he can feel Sherlock's hand on his bare skin, barely a brush. Neither of them say anything when Sherlock slides the shirt down his arms and out of the way, and the moment John looks back up, he realises Sherlock must have truly been waiting a very long time to do just this.

"Ok?" he asks, overwhelmed by the bare wonder on Sherlock's face.

"Yes," Sherlock breathes, fingers now exploring every inch of John's chest. "John, you are a marvel."

"Thank you," John laughs. 'You're quite a marvel yourself, you know."

"Shhh, I need to focus."

Another laugh escapes him, but the intense concentration in Sherlock's eyes forces John to fall silent. They don't say much for a long moment, Sherlock exploring all of him with some remarks here and there, and really, it shouldn't be that arousing. But John is now aching for more, his entire body shivering under Sherlock's touch, and when he's being pushed down onto his back, he can't help but moan Sherlock's name.

"Can I take your trousers off?" Sherlock asks, fingers already fumbling with his belt and zipper.

"Obviously," John replies, pleased to see the smile on Sherlock's lips. "But first, I need you to kiss me again."

Sherlock obliges him quickly, the both of them getting lost into the touch. John takes care of Sherlock's own shirt slowly, placing it next to his on the floor and the first contact of his hands against Sherlock's back makes them both whimper into the kiss. Sherlock is shivering again, having settled on top of him, but John knows he'll be switching their positions soon. He lets him go after another deep kiss, and Sherlock seems more hesitant now, pushing John's trousers down his legs in one quick movement.

"Yes," John moans, the lack of pressure on his erection welcomed. He looks down just in time to catch Sherlock staring at it, licking his lips, and another groan escapes him. "You," he says, sitting up to reach for Sherlock's trousers.

Sherlock's fingers find his chest again, his lips kissing his shoulder blade, and if it makes it difficult to properly undress him, John doesn't say anything. Another minute of fumbling and they're both in their pants only, staring at each other, breathless.

"I'm going to stop asking you if you're alright now," John smiles, "but promise you'll tell me if something's wrong."

"Obviously," Sherlock replies but it lacks the mockery the word usually holds.

John reaches for him, bringing them closer again for another kiss, and they both fall back onto the bed. As he thought, Sherlock pulls John on top of him this time, hands roaming all over his back. He throws his head back the second John settles between his legs, "John!"

John smiles, kissing the offered neck and slowly rolling his hips once, twice. Sherlock digs his nails into his back, arching against him. John takes his time, letting Sherlock set a pace and following his movements, and soon they're both panting into each others mouths with each rock of their hips. Surprisingly, Sherlock is the one to request they take off their pants, right now, and John obliges with a laugh. But the sound dies off as soon as he's pushing Sherlock's pants down his legs slowly, every sound coming out of Sherlock's throat making it hard to focus.

"Beautiful," he breathes. "Absolutely beautiful."

"John," Sherlock moans, hips rocking into the void.

In less than a minute, John is getting rid of his own pants and settling back between Sherlock's legs, the friction making them both whimper. John seals their lips again, catching all of Sherlock's moans and panting breaths. It takes them several minutes before they begin to move again, rocking against each other slowly, so very slowly. John knows they need to take their time, that Sherlock will be overwhelmed quickly and that they'll probably need to cool down from time to time, but he finds that just stopping what they're doing now is too much to ask.

Sherlock suddenly stills, burying his head in the pillow and John stares down at him, panting. "What it is?"

"I..." Sherlock begins before breathing out loudly. "Too much."

John rolls to his side quickly, keeping one hand on Sherlock's chest, over his heart. "Do you want to slow down a bit?"

Sherlock shakes his head, looking back at him, "No, slow is boring."

"Not always," John smiles, stroking Sherlock's chest very, very slowly. He circles one nipple, Sherlock's breath catching, before moving away again. He repeats the motion without ever changing the pace, going as slow as he can manage, and by the time Sherlock is moaning every time he brushes one nipple, John is beaming at him.

"Now, what was that about slow being boring?"

Sherlock tugs at his arms, urging him to move closer again, "John, please."

"I don't know," John teases, moving to kiss his nipples now. "I quite like this." Sherlock makes a frustrated noise, tugging harder and John finally rolls back on top of him. He kisses Sherlock tenderly, not moving yet. "Tell me, alright?"

Sherlock nods, already sliding both hands down John's back and onto his arse. John smiles against his lips, starting to rock against him again and pulling one of Sherlock's legs up and around his waist, "Easier," he breathes.

Sherlock hums lazily, starting to rock into him and when earlier had been too much, he's the one now to moan for more against John's lips. Without stopping their movements, John slides a hand between them and around Sherlock's erection. "Yes," Sherlock pants, shivering. "Yes." John strokes him slowly, feeling himself grow harder each time Sherlock thrusts into his fist. "I want to..." Sherlock says, shifting so he can close one hand around John too.

John stops himself before thrusting into his hand, cursing under his breath. Sherlock looks up sharply at him, frowning, and John brushes their lips together, "This is amazing." Sherlock smiles back, trapping his lower lip between his own. And, god, John should have known he'd be brilliant at this too.

"Wait," John says after a moment, reaching blindly for the lube and pouring some on his hand. He straightens up a bit, staring down at the both of them and barely repressing a moan. "It'll be easier," he explains, lubing Sherlock's erection and getting the most sensual reaction out of him immediately. He chuckles, dropping some lube on his own cock, and Sherlock is quick to stroke him again.

"Clever," he comments, looking down too.

John rolls his eyes, putting the bottle away again but remaining in this position. He slowly begins to tease at Sherlock's perineum and inner thigh, making sure to keep his touch light and reassuring. Sherlock is staring intensely at him, his eyes dancing all over his face, and John does his best to smile and not give away just how badly he wants to be touching him everywhere. He kisses his knee when Sherlock plants both feet on the mattress, opening his leg wider with a new confidence.

"Have you researched this?" John asks.

Sherlock nods.

"So you know preparation is important," John continues. "Very important. So no more slow is boring."

"Yes," Sherlock replies, smiling widely. "You made it quite clear it isn't anyway."

"Good," John beams, letting go of Sherlock's cock only to scoot lower on the bed. He stops when he's able to kiss Sherlock thigh and inner thigh, teasing him for as long as he can manage without Sherlock starting to rock his hips again. "We'll have time for that later," he murmurs, deposing a soft kiss on the head of his erection. "Don't worry."

Sherlock is panting, staring down at him and biting his lower lip. John reaches for the lube again, warming it between his fingers before sliding one finger down Sherlock's thigh and close to his hole. He can't help but hums at the sudden warmth, wiggling his finger until he can massage the entrance slowly. "Ok?"

Sherlock nods quickly, eyes wide.

"Remember, you tell me if you're uncomfortable," John reminds him, and after another nod, he pushes the tip of his finger in. Sherlock inhales sharply, head falling back on the pillow and his back arching. John stops, keeping his finger still until he's certain he can pull away slowly. Sherlock looks back at him after three or four push, his chest rising heavily now. John, focused on him and him only, dares to push further the next time, to the second knuckle, and is rewarded with a loud moan.

"Again," Sherlock demands.

Happy to oblige, John pushes deeper, setting a pace without ever searching for Sherlock's prostate yet. He waits for another long minute before placing a second finger against Sherlock's hole, not inside but there, giving him the time to adjust. It's only when Sherlock nods at him that he pushes it inside, stretching Sherlock with each thrust. He resumes kissing his thigh when he feels him tense just a little, trying to distract him from any pain, and slowly, Sherlock is rocking back on his fingers again.

His own erection now achingly hard, John rocks against the mattress, desperate for relief. He stops when he catches Sherlock’s worried eyes, smiling up at him, "You're so breathtaking. I want you so bloody much."

Sherlock clears his throat, "You can do it."

"No," John replies, shaking his head. "Remember, preparation."

"But you-"

"I can wait," John asserts, pushing his two fingers deeper and smiling broadly when Sherlock's entire body arches.

"John!" John pulls his finger almost all the way out, giving Sherlock the time to adjust to the sensation. "That..." He pants, hands clenching the sheets. "You..."

"Again?"

Sherlock nods quickly, obviously bracing himself for it again, and John makes sure to only brush his prostate softly. Which turns out to be enough considering Sherlock’s still loud reaction. He adds a third finger soon after that, Sherlock still lost in pleasure. He doesn't aim for his prostate each time, and a little game settles between them, Sherlock trying to deduce when John will push his finger deep enough to tease at it again. They end up chuckling together when Sherlock is the one to rock back each time, cheating.

"Enough?" He asks after another thrust.

John licks his lips, having been ready himself for what seems like hours now. "How does it feel?"

"No pain anymore," Sherlock replies, honest and trusting.

"You realise it won't be the same once I'm inside you?" John asks, removing his fingers and lubing his cock before climbing back on top of him.

"I know," Sherlock breathes against his lips. "I want you."

John bumps their noses together, "I'm the luckiest man alive."

"You said so already," Sherlock points out.

"It needed saying again," John smiles, feeling Sherlock's leg closing around his waist again.

"John," he says, sounding all too serious. "I'm afraid any friction against my penis will put an end to all this quite quickly."

John bursts out laughing, "I should avoid your penis, then."

Sherlock rolls his eyes but there is a smile on his lips and John kisses it with a passion he had never believed imaginable. They kiss lazily for a long moment, neither of them moving until Sherlock is canting his hips in a clear invitation. John guides himself blindly, massaging Sherlock's entrance with the head of his cock before beginning to push in slowly.

Sherlock's breath catches, head thrown back, "John."

"Fuck," John moans, closing his eyes as he continues to push in. "You feel amazing."

"Don't stop," Sherlock whimpers. "Don't ever stop."

John threads both hands inside Sherlock's curls, crashing their mouths together again. He doesn't stop until he's fully inside him, and even then, neither of them has managed to remember how to breathe again.

"I love you," John breathes. "God, I love you."

Sherlock kisses him harder, urging him with a roll of his hips to move, and John pulls out almost entirely before driving in again. They don't set a pace right away, pulling and thrusting and stopping when it's too much, and when John finally hits Sherlock's prostate, they both moan loudly. "Again, again," Sherlock pants, hands gripping his arse. John begins to thrust in earnest, having lost sense of time entirely. For all he knows, they could have been doing this from the very start, after the chase, after the Chinese, after the laughing. Just the two of them in this bed, becoming one.

"John, I'm..." Sherlock moans, eyes wide open and his curls sticking to his forehead. "I can't wait any lo-"

"Yes," John pants, "yes, yes."

That's all it takes for Sherlock's orgasm to explode between them, his muscles contracting around John and sending him over the edge in just two more thrusts. He's not sure how long they remain suspended in a state a pure bliss, but suddenly there is Sherlock's hot and ragged breath against his neck, and John is certain he's never going to be able to move again. Still, he forces himself to slide to his side, Sherlock turning in his arms to curl around him immediately, head nestled against his neck.

"I love you," John murmurs again, quiet.

Sherlock mumbles something against his skin, and John chuckles, finding he has no trouble understanding him anyway. They don't move for a long moment, learning how to breathe again, together. It's only new shivers running through Sherlock that makes John reach for the covers and place it above their naked bodies.

"It's sticky," Sherlock declares all the sudden.

"I could go and get us some wet flannels," John offers but Sherlock's arm tightens around him.

"That involves leaving this bed, John, so the answer is no."

"But it's sticky," John says, smiling.

"I don't mind."

John searches for his lips, nuzzling their faces together, "Sure you don't."

They kiss lazily, tasting each other’s smiles.

"You should have told me," Sherlock whispers.

"What?"

"That a fantasy can't be trusted."

John frowns.

"Never could I have imagined sex with you to feel like this."

"That's because you didn't know it could feel like this, love," John replies, brushing a curl off his forehead. "Was I better in your fantasies?"

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock says, yawning. "It doesn't suit you."

"Doesn't it now?" John smiles, closing his eyes and shifting closer to Sherlock's warmth.

“I have a confession to make,” Sherlock whispers, sounding hesitant.

“You do know you can tell me anything, right?” John replies, wondering how long it will take them to stop being so careful around each other.

Sherlock nods, studying him for a long minute before saying, “When you went upstairs without me, I almost didn’t join you. I almost walked out of the flat.”

John takes the time to digest the information, asking, “Why?”

“I was alone with my thoughts again, and even if I could still feel the ghost of your lips against mine, I was also able to think this through. It took me barely a second to start doubting again, not you, never you, but myself.” Sherlock pauses, eyes roaming all over John’s face. “You have to realise that there was a good chance I could have ruined all this in just a second.”

“You didn’t,” John says softly.

“But I could have,” Sherlock sighs. “I still can.”

“Then let’s agree to tell the other as soon as we feel we’re slipping away again,” John replies, cuping Sherlock’s face with both hands. “Each time either of us feels that the other is doubting or closing up or just getting lost inside his own head.”

“You make it all sound so easy,” Sherlock whispers, closing his eyes.

“It’s not,” John replies, shifting closer and closing his own eyes. “But we’re worth fighting for, yeah?” Sherlock smiles, nodding slightly and John seals their lips again for a tender, gentle kiss. And before either of them can do anything about it, sleep finds them snuggled together.

The first time John wakes up, it’s still the middle of the night. The moon is casting a faint light in the bedroom, and John’s eyes meet Sherlock’s, staring back at him. They don’t say a word, their breathing filling the air. And when Sherlock slowly rolls onto his back, one hand closed around John’s arm, John goes willingly, falling back on top of him. In the end, Sherlock gets to experience only kisses and friction, their moans dying in each others mouths and the feeling of _belonging_ to the other making it hard to breathe.

The second time John wakes up, the sun is shining inside the room. He doesn’t move, his chest pressed to Sherlock’s back and it doesn’t take a genius to realise he’s still fast asleep. He doesn’t dare to move for a long moment, his nose buried in Sherlock’s curls and their chests rising together. _This_ , this is exactly how he wants to wake up for the rest of his life. This is exactly how he wants to fall back asleep, even just for a few minutes.

The third time John wakes up, the life he never dared to dream of finally begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on this story <3  
> I'm probably going to post a short epilogue sometime next week!
> 
> Love,  
> Pauline.


	3. epilogue

"Why can't we go?"

John represses a sigh, turning away from the pasta he's cooking to look back at Sherlock and Rosie in the living room. "Halloween was yesterday, remember?"

"And?" Sherlock asks, apparently not seeing the problem.

 "And," John continues, "we can't just go trick or treat in the middle of the afternoon."

"This is tedious, John," Sherlock declares, joining him in the kitchen. He stops next to him, leaning against the counter. "It's not fair to Rosie, you know."

"Is it now?"

"She put on the most brilliant costume there is," Sherlock says, pointing to the bee dress Rosie still hasn't agreed to take off, "and she can't even show it off."

"I figured you'd like the costume," John smiles, placing the pasta on the table, "but not that much."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Yes, you did."

John scoots closer, circling Sherlock's waist with both arms, "Yeah, I did."

Sherlock is rolling his eyes again when John kisses him, pulling away when he feels Rosie's hand pulling his hair, "Daddy!"

"Not the hair sweetheart," he winces, taking her out of Sherlock's arms. "And it's time to eat for you, too!" He sets her down at the table, taking his own seat and nodding toward the other chair until Sherlock understands there's no escaping lunch today.

"If I agree to eat," Sherlock says, looking smug, "then we go trick or treat afterwards."

"If you agree to eat," John replies, leaning over the table, "then we'll have another go at some of your fantasies while she naps."

Sherlock's eyes widen for the briefest of seconds, a flush spreading to his neck as he says, "Don't pretend we wouldn't have done that whether I eat or not."

John shrugs, not replying but serving him some pasta instead with a pointed look. Sherlock sighs, more for the drama than anything else, and starts eating while glaring at him.

"What did Mrs Hudson say when you went to get Rosie?" John asks, ignoring him entirely.

"Does it really matter?" Sherlock replies too quickly.

"It does," John smiles, glancing at him from where he's helping Rosie to get pasta inside her mouth and not the table. "Considering all she told me yesterday, I deserve to know."

"She only congratulated me four times, which is remarkable," Sherlock says, an amused smile on his lips. "She also said she always knew the two of us were made for each other," he adds with another roll of his eyes.

"She's always been a romantic," John points out, his foot finding Sherlock's under the table. "Just like you."

"Will you ever let that go?"

"Never," John replies honestly, and he feels Sherlock's foot slide higher on his leg. "I tell you what," he smiles. "Rosie needs to take a nap after lunch, so we'll see when she wakes up."

"That's just delaying the decision," Sherlock points out, pushing his plate away, apparently done with eating.

John shrugged, deciding to let him win this one. He helps Rosie finish her food quickly, not saying anything when Sherlock stands up and heads back to the living room, falling boneless on the sofa. He takes his time cleaning the dishes and letting Rosie play for a while, and only when she begins to yawn and rub her eyes, does he decide to bring her down to Mrs Hudson. "We'll need to have her furniture brought here," he says when he passes next to Sherlock, but gets no answer. Rolling his eyes, he lets one finger brush a curl off Sherlock's forehead, "Don't tell me you’re sulking now." Still no answer, and John sighs before heading downstairs.

Mrs Hudson is thrilled to keep an eye on Rosie again, and somehow John manages to escape more questions about the events of the night before. He climbs back up the stairs, heading directly for the living room and stopping once again by the sofa. "Scoot over," he says softly and it only takes a second before Sherlock is giving him the space to lie down. John smiles as Sherlock automatically snuggles closer, his face back against his neck, and John wraps himself around him quickly. "So, sulking?"

Sherlock shrugs, "Sorry."

"That's a first," John chuckles. "Apologizing for sulking." Sherlock remains silent, tightening his hold around him. It takes John another long moment to realise what that sorry actually meant. "You know,” he breathes, smiling, "you don't have to change anything, right?"

"Don't I?"

"No," John replies, shaking his head. "I fell in love with you when you spent days on that sofa, not talking. That's part of your charm, really."

Sherlock chuckles quietly, pulling away to look at him, "I don't understand," he says, "even after yesterday, after everything we said and confessed, I still feel so... hesitant. About everything."

"Hesitant?" John asks.

"I didn't even think when I came to lie down here," Sherlock replies, closing his eyes. "I left you alone to deal with the dishes and Rosie and Mrs Hudson."

John feels his chest warm with love, and he leans in for a soft, gentle kiss before saying, "I love you, you know that?" Sherlock looks back at him, frowning, and John laughs again. "It's a bit early for the two of us to suddenly change our entire behavior. I'm going to storm out of the flat now and then, and you're going to sulk for hours sometimes, but that's alright."

"Is it?"

"Yes," John smiles. "And we have all the time in the world to figure out how to be together."

Sherlock studies him for a long moment, eyes roaming all over his face, "I love you."

"It's probably because it's still brand new, but I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you say that," John remarks.

"I might tell you again when we go trick or treating," Sherlock says, sounding all too innocent.

"Oh will you, now?"

Sherlock nods, leaning closer for another kiss and John obliges him with laugh, getting lost into Sherlock's taste and arms, wishing nothing more than to remain there for years and years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the end!   
> I really just wanted to write Rosie and Sherlock together, so it's really short, but I hope you liked it :)
> 
> Thank you again for all the amazing feedbacks on this story,  
> Pauline.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos and feedbacks are always appreciated!  
> follow me @[ggaypilot](http://ggaypilot.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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